THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


"Tell  me  -  please,"  she  begged  "Is  the  man  dead?"      Page  165 

THE  DKVII/S  OWN 


The  Devil's  Own 


A  Romance  of  the  Black  Hawk  War 


By   RANDALL  PARRISH 


AUTHOR  OF 

"Contraband,"     "When  Wilderness  Was  King," 
"Beyond  The  Frontier,"     Etc. 


With  Frontispiece 
By  The  Kinneys 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  A.  C.   McCLURG  &  COMPANY 


Copyright 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO, 

1917 


Published  October,   1917 
Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 

Printed  in  the  United  States 


\ 


inn 

CONTEXTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  At   Old    Fort   Armstrong I 

II  On     Furlough 10 

III  History  of  the  Beaucaires 20 

IV  The  End  of  the  Game 30 

V  Kirby   Shows   His    Hand 40 

VI  Into  the   Black  Water 53 

VII  Picking  Up   the   Threads 63 

VIII  I   Decide   My   Duty 73 

IX  The  Home  of  Judge  Beaucaire     ....  86 

X  A  Girl  at  Bay 99 

XI  To  Save  a  "Nigger" no 

XII  We  Capture  a  Keel-Boat 123 

XIII  Seeking  the  Underground 133 

XIV  The  Dawn  of   Deeper   Interest     ....  146 
XV  The  Cabin  of  Ames  Shrunk     .     .     .'   .     .  157 

XVI  The  Trail  of  the  Raiders 168 

XVII  We    Face    Disaster 179 

XVIII  The    Loss    of    Rene 190 

XIX  On  Board  the  Adventurer 202 

XX  The  Story  of  Elsie  Clark 214 

XXI  The  Landing  at  Yellow  Banks     ....  226 

XXII  My  Friend,  the  Deputy  Sheriff     ....  238 

XXIII  A  New  Job 250 

XXIV  Kirby  and  I  Meet 262 

XXV  The    Fugitives 274 

XXVI  The  Island  in  the  Swamp 286 

XXVII  We    Choose    Our    Course 298 

KXVIII  A  Field  of  Massacre 309 

M18910 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIX    The  Valley  ol  the  Bureau     .     .     . 

PAGE 

XXX    We  Accept  a  Refugee     .     .     .     . 

^O 

XXXI     The  Valley  of  the  Shadow     .     .     . 

^4.0 

XXXII     The  Trail  to  Ottawa 

idS 

CHAPTER  I 

AT  OLD  FORT  ARMSTRONG 

TT  WAS  the  early  springtime,  and  my  history  tells  me 
•*•  the  year  was  1832,  although  now  that  seems  so  far 
away  I  almost  hesitate  to  write  the  date.  It  appears  sur 
prising  that  through  the  haze  of  all  those  intervening 
years  —  intensely  active  years  with  me  —  I  should  now 
be  able  to  recall  so  clearly  the  scene  of  that  far-off  morn 
ing  of  my  youth,  and  depict  in  memory  each  minor  detail. 
Yet,  as  you  read  on,  and  realize  yourself  the  stirring 
events  resulting  from  that  idle  moment,  you  may  be 
able  to  comprehend  the  deep  impression  left  upon  my 
mind,  which  no  cycle  of  time  could  ever  erase. 

I  was  barely  twenty  then,  a  strong,  almost  headstrong 
boy,  and  the  far  wilderness  was  still  very  new  to  me, 
although  for  two  years  past  I  had  held  army  commission 
and  been  assigned  to  duty  in  frontier  forts.  Yet  never 
previously  had  I  been  stationed  at  quite  so  isolated  an 
outpost  of  civilization  as  was  this  combination  of  rock  and 
log  defense  erected  at  the  southern  extremity  of  Rock 
Island,  fairly  marooned  amid  the  sweep  of  the  great  river, 
with  Indian-haunted  land  stretching  for  leagues  on  every 
side.  A  mere  handful  of  troops  was  quartered  there, 
technically  two  companies  of  infantry,  yet  numbering 
barely  enough  for  one;  and  this  in  spite  of  rumors  daily 

1 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


drifting  to  us  that  the  Sacs  and  Foxes,  with  their  main 
village  just  below,  were  already  becoming  restless  and 
warlike,  inflamed  by  the  slow  approach  of  white  settlers 
into  the  valley  of  the  Rock.  Indeed,  so  short  was  the 
garrison  of  officers,  that  the  harassed  commander  had 
ventured  to  retain  me  for  field  service,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  I  was  detailed  to  staff  duty,  had  borne  dispatches  up 
the  Mississippi  from  General  Gaines,  and  expected  to 
return  again  by  the  first  boat. 

The  morning  was  one  of  deep-blue  sky  and  bright  sun 
shine,  the  soft  spring  air  vocal  with  the  song  of  birds. 
As  soon  as  early  drill  ended  I  had  left  the  fort  enclosure, 
and  sought  a  lonely  perch  on  the  great  rock  above  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  It  was  a  spot  I  loved.  Below,  ex 
tended  a  magnificent  vista  of  the  river,  fully  a  mile  wide 
from  shore  to  shore,  spreading  out  in  a  sheet  of  glittering 
silver,  unbroken  in  its  vast  sweep  toward  the  sea  except 
for  a  few  small,  willow-studded  islands  a  mile  or  two 
away,  with  here  and  there  the  black  dot  of  an  Indian 
canoe  gliding  across  the  surface.  I  had  been  told  of  a 
fight  amid  those  islands  in  1814,  a  desperate  savage  bat 
tle  off  the  mouth  of  the  Rock,  and  the  memory  of  this 
was  in  my  m-ind  as  my  eyes  searched  those  distant  shores, 
silent  now  in  their  drapery  of  fresh  green  foliage,  yet 
appearing  strangely  desolate  and  forlorn,  as  they  merged 
into  the  gray  tint  of  distance.  Well  I  realized  that  they 
only  served  to  screen  savage  activity  beyond,  a  covert 
amid  which  lurked  danger  and  death;  for  over  there,  in 
the  near  shadow  of  the  Rock  Valley,  was  where  Black 
Hawk,  dissatisfied,  revengeful,  dwelt  with  his  British 
band,  gathering  swiftly  about  him  the  younger,  fighting 


AT  OLD  FORT  ARMSTRONG 


warriors  of  every  tribe  his  influence  could  reach.  He 
had  been  at  the  fort  but  two  days  before,  a  tall,  straight, 
taciturn  Indian;  no  chief  by  birth,  yet  a  born  leader  of 
men,  defiant  in  speech,  and  insolent  of  demeanor  in  spite 
of  the  presence  also  at  the  council  of  his  people's  true 
representative,  the  silent,  cautious  Keokuk. 

Even  with  my  small  knowledge  of  such  things  it  was 
plain  enough  to  be  seen  there  existed  deadly  hatred  be 
tween  these  two,  :md  that  Keokuk's  desire  for  peace  with 
the  whites  alone  postponed  an  outbreak.  I  knew  then 
but  little  of  the  cause.  The  Indian  tongue  was  strange 
to  me,  and  the  interpreter  failed  to  make  clear  the  under 
lying  motive,  yet  I  managed  to  gather  that,  in  spite  of 
treaty,  Black  Hawk  refused  to  leave  his  oldtime  hunting 
grounds  to  the  east  of  the  river,  and  openly  threatened 
war.  The  commandant  trusted  Keokuk,  with  faith  that 
his  peaceful  counsels  would  prevail;  but  when  Black 
Hawk  angrily  left  the  chamber  and  my  eyes  followed  him 
to  his  waiting  canoe,  my  mind  was  convinced  that  this 
was  not  destined  to  be  the  end  —  that  only  force  of  arms 
would  ever  tame  his  savage  spirit. 

This  all  came  back  to  me  in  memory  as  I  sat  there, 
searching  out  that  distant  shore  line,  and  picturing  in 
imagination  the  restless  Indian  camp  concealed  from  view 
beyond  those  tree-crowned  bluffs.  Already  tales  reached 
us  of  encroaching  settlers  advancing  along  the  valley,  and 
of  savage,  retaliating  raids  which  could  only  terminate  in 
armed  encounters.  Already  crops  had  been  destroyed, 
and  isolated  cabins  fired,  the  work  as  yet  of  prowling, 
irresponsible  bands,  yet  always  traced  in  their  origin  to 
Black  Hawk's  village.  That  Keokuk  could  continue  to 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


control  his  people  no  longer  seemed  probable  to  me,  for 
the  Hawk  was  evidently  the  stronger  character  of  the 
two,  possessed  the  larger  following,  and  made  no  at 
tempt  to  conceal  the  depth  of  his  hatred  for  all  things 
American. 

Now  to  my  view  all  appeared  peaceful  enough  —  the 
silent,  deserted  shores,  the  desolate  sweep  of  the  broad 
river,  the  green-crowned  bluffs,  the  quiet  log  fort  be 
hind  me,  its  stockaded  gates  wride  open,  with  not  even  a 
sentry  visible,  a  flag  flapping  idly  at  the  summit  of  a  high 
pole,  and  down  below  where  I  sat  a  little  river  steamboat 
tied  to  the  wharf,  a  dingy  stern-wheeler,  with  the  word 
"Warrior"  painted  across  the  pilot  house.  My  eyes  and 
thoughts  turned  that  way  wonderingly.  The  boat  had 
tied  up  the  previous  evening,  having  just  descended  from 
Prairie  du  Chien,  and,  it  was  rumored  at  that  time,  in 
tended  to  depart  down  river  for  St.  Louis  at  daybreak. 
Yet  even  now  I  could  perceive  no  sign  of  departure.  There 
was  but  the  thinnest  suggestion  of  smoke  from  the  single 
stack,  no  loading,  or  unloading,  and  the  few  members  of 
the  crew  visible  were  idling  on  the  wharf,  or  grouped  upon 
the  forward  deck,  a  nondescript  bunch  of  river  boatmen, 
with  an  occasional  black  face  among  them,  their  voices 
reaching  me,  every  sentence  punctuated  by  oaths.  Above, 
either  seated  on  deck  stools,  or  moving  restlessly  about, 
peering  over  the  low  rail  at  the  shore,  were  a  few  passen 
gers,  all  men  roughly  dressed  —  miners  from  Fevre  River 
likely,  with  here  and  there  perchance  an  adventurer  from 
farther  above  —  impatient  of  delay.  I  was  attracted  to 
but  two  of  any  interest.  These  were  standing  alone  to 
gether  near  the  stern,  a  heavily-built  man  with  white  hair 


AT  OLD  FORT  ARMSTRONG 


and  beard,  and  a  younger,  rather  slender  fellow,  with 
clipped,  black  moustache.  Both  were  unusually  well 
dressed,  the  latter  exceedingly  natty  and  fashionable  in 
attire,  rather  overly  so  I  thought,  while  the  former  wore  a 
long  coat,  and  high  white  stock.  Involuntarily  I  had 
placed  them  in  my  mind  as  river  gamblers,  but  was  still 
observing  their  movements  with  some  curiosity,  when 
Captain  Thockmorton  crossed  the  gangplank  and  began 
ascending  the  steep  bluff.  The  path  to  be  followed  led 
directly  past  where  I  was  sitting,  and,  recognizing  me,  he 
stopped  to  exchange  greetings. 

"What!  have  you  finished  your  day's  work  already, 
Lieutenant?"  he  exclaimed  pleasantly.  "Mine  has  only 
just  begun." 

"So  I  observe.  It  was  garrison  talk  last  night  that  the 
Warrior  was  to  depart  at  daylight." 

"That  was  the  plan.  However,  the  Wanderer  went 
north  during  the  night,"  he  explained,  "and  brought  mail 
from  below,  so  we  are  being  held  for  the  return  letters. 
I  am  going  up  to  the  office  now." 

My  eyes  returned  to  the  scene  below. 

"You  have  some  passengers  aboard." 

"A  few;  picked  up  several  at  the  lead  mines,  besides 
those  aboard  from  Prairie  du  Chien.  No  soldiers  this 
trip,  though.  They  haven't  men  enough  at  Fort  Crawford 
to  patrol  the  walls." 

"So  I'm  told;  and  only  the  merest  handful  here. 
Frankly,  Captain,  I  do  not  know  what  they  can  be  think 
ing  about  down  below,  with  this  Indian  uprising  threat 
ened.  The  situation  is  more  serious  than  they  imagine. 
In  my  judgment  Black  Hawk  means  to  fight." 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


"I  fully  agree  with  you,"  he  replied  soberly.  "But 
Governor  Clark  is  the  only  one  who  senses  the  situation. 
However,  I  learned  last  night  from  the  commander  of 
the  Wanderer  that  troops  were  being  gathered  at  Jeffer 
son  Barracks.  I'll  probably  get  a  load  of  them  coming 
back.  What  is  your  regiment,  Knox?" 

"The  Fifth  Infantry." 

"The  Fifth!    Then  you  do  not  belong  here?" 

"No;  I  came  up  with  dispatches,  but  have  not  been 
permitted  to  return.  What  troops  are  at  Jefferson  —  did 
you  learn?" 

"Mostly  from  the  First,  with  two  companies  of  the 
Sixth,  Watson  told  me;  only  about  four  hundred  alto 
gether.  How  many  warriors  has  Black  Hawk  ?" 

"No  one  knows.  They  say  his  emissaries  are  circulat 
ing  among  the  Wyandottes  and  Potawatamies,  and  that 
he  has  received  encouragement  from  the  Prophet  which 
makes  him  bold." 

"The  Prophet !  Oh,  you  mean  Wabokieshiek  ?  I  know 
that  old  devil,  a  Winnebago ;  and  if  Black  Hawk  is  in  his 
hands  he  will  not  listen  very  long  even  to  White  Beaver. 
General  Atkinson  passed  through  here  lately;  what  does 
he  think?" 

I  shook  my  head  doubtfully. 

"No  one  can  tell,  Captain;  at  least  none  of  the  officers 
here  seem  in  his  confidence.  I  have  never  met  him,  but 
I  learn  this :  he  trusts  the  promises  of  Keokuk,  and  con 
tinues  to  hold  parley.  Under  his  orders  a  council  was 
held  here  three  days  since,  which  ended  in  a  quarrel  be 
tween  the  two  chiefs.  However,  there  is  a  rumor  that 
dispatches  have  already  been  sent  to  Governors  Clark  and 


AT  OLD  FORT  ARMSTRONG  7 

Reynolds  suggesting  a  call  for  volunteers,  yet  I  cannot 
vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  tale." 

"White  Beaver  generally  keeps  his  own  counsel,  yet 
he  knows  Indians,  and  might  trust  me  with  his  decision, 
for  we  are  old  friends.  If  you  can  furnish  me  with  a 
light,  I'll  start  this  pipe  of  mine  going." 

I  watched  the  weather-beaten  face  of  the  old  river- 
man,  as  he  puffed  away  in  evident  satisfaction.  I  had 
chanced  to  meet  him  only  twice  before,  yet  he  was  a  well- 
known  character  between  St.  Louis  and  Prairie  du  Chien ; 
rough  enough  to  be  sure,  from  the  very  nature  of  his  call 
ing,  but  generous  and  straightforward. 

"Evidently  all  of  your  passengers  are  not  miners,  Cap 
tain,"  I  ventured,  for  want  of  something  better  to  say. 
"Those  two  standing  there  at  the  stern,  for  instance." 

He  turned  and  looked,  shading  his  eyes,  the  smoking 
pipe  in  one  hand. 

"No,"  he  said,  "that  big  man  is  Judge  Beaucaire,  from 
Missouri.  He  has  a  plantation  just  above  St.  Louis,  an 
old  French  grant.  He  went  up  with  me  about  a  month 
ago  —  my  first  trip  this  season  —  to  look  after  some  in 
vestment  on  the  Fevre,  which  I  judge  hasn't  turned  out 
very  well,  and  has  been  waiting  to  go  back  with  me.  Of 
course  you  know  the  younger  one." 

"Never  saw  him  before" 

"Then  you  have  never  traveled  much  on  the  lower  river. 
That's  Joe  Kirby." 

"Joe  Kirby?" 

"Certainly;  you  must  have  heard  of  him.  First  time 
I  ever  knew  of  his  drifting  so  far  north,  as  there  are  not 
many  pickings  up  here.  Have  rather  suspected  he  might 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


be  laying  for  Beaucaire,  but  the  two  haven't  touched  a 
card  coming  down." 

"He  is  a  gambler,  then?" 

"A  thoroughbred;  works  between  St.  Louis  and  New 
Orleans.  I  can't  just  figure  out  yet  what  he  is  doing  up 
here.  I  asked  him  flat  out,  but  he  only  laughed,  and  he 
isn't  the  sort  of  man  you  get  very  friendly  with,  some 
say  he  has  Indian  blood  in  him,  so  I  dropped  it.  He  and 
the  Judge  seem  pretty  thick,  and  they  may  be  playing  in 
their  rooms." 

"Have  you  ever  told  the  planter  who  the  other  man  is  ?" 

"What,  me,  told  him?  Well,  hardly;  I've  got  troubles 
enough  of  my  own.  Beaucaire  is  of  age,  I  reckon,  and 
they  tell  me  he  is  some  poker  player  himself.  The 
chances  are  he  knows  Kirby  better  than  I  do;  besides 
I've  run  this  river  too  long  to  interfere  with  my  passen 
gers.  See  you  again  before  we  leave;  am  going  up  now 
to  have  a  talk  with  the  Major." 

My  eyes  followed  as  he  disappeared  within  the  open 
gates,  a  squatty,  strongly-built  figure,  the  blue  smoke  from 
his  pipe  circling  in  a  cloud  above  his  head.  Then  I  turned 
idly  to  gaze  once  again  down  the  river,  and  observe  the 
groups  loitering  below.  I  felt  but  slight  interest  in  the 
conversation  just  exchanged,  nor  did  the  memory  of  it 
abide  for  long  in  my  mind.  I  had  not  been  close  enough 
to  observe  Beaucaire,  or  glimpse  his  character,  while  the 
presence  of  a  gambler  on  the  b oat  was  no  such  novelty  in 
those  days  as  to  chain  my  attention.  Indeed,  these  indi 
viduals  were  everywhere,  a  recognized  institution,  and, 
as  Thockmorton  had  intimated,  the  planter  himself  was 
fully  conversant  with  the  game,  and  quite  able  to  protect 


AT  OLD  FORT  'ARMSTRONG  9 

himself.  Assuredly  it  was  none  of  my  affair,  and  yet  a 
certain  curiosity  caused  me  to  observe  the  movements 
of  the  two  so  long  as  they  remained  on  deck.  However, 
it  was  but  a  short  while  before  both  retired  to  the  cabin, 
and  then  my  gaze  returned  once  more  to  the  sullen  sweep 
of  water,  while  my  thoughts  drifted  far  away. 

A  soldier  was  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  and  had  spoken, 
before  I  was  even  aware  of  his  approach. 

"Lieutenant  Knox." 

I  looked  about  quickly,  recognizing  the  major's  or 
derly. 

"Yes,  Sanders,  what  is  it?" 

"Major  Bliss  requests,  sir,  that  you  report  at  his  office 
at  once." 

"Very  well.    Is  he  with  Captain  Thockmorton  ?" 

"Not  at  present,  sir;  the  captain  has  gone  to  the  post- 
sutler's." 

Wondering  what  might  be  desired  of  me,  yet  with  no 
conception  of  the  reality,  I  followed  after  the  orderly 
through  the  stockade  gate,  and  across  the  small  parade 
ground  toward  the  more  pretentious  structure  occupied 
by  the  officers  of  the  garrison. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  FURLOUGH 

A  NUMBER  of  soldiers  off  duty  were  loitering  in 
front  of  the  barracks,  while  a  small  group  of  officers 
occupied  chairs  on  the  log  porch  of  their  quarters,  enjoy 
ing  the  warmth  of  the  sun.  I  greeted  these  as  I  passed, 
conscious  that  their  eyes  followed  me  curiously  as  I  ap 
proached  the  closed  door  of  the  commandant's  office. 
The  sentry  without  brought  his  rifle  to  a  salute,  but  per 
mitted  my  passage  without  challenge.  A  voice  within 
answered  my  knock,  and  I  entered,  closing  the  door  be 
hind  me.  The  room  was  familiar  —  plain,  almost  shab 
bily  furnished,  the  walls  decorated  only  by  the  skins  of 
wild  beasts,  and  holding  merely  a  few  rudely  constructed 
chairs  and  a  long  pine  table.  Major  Bliss  glanced  up  at 
my  entrance,  with  deep-set  eyes  hidden  beneath  bushy- 
gray  eyebrows,  his  smooth-shaven  face  appearing  almost 
youthful  in  contrast  to  a  wealth  of  gray  hair.  A  veteran 
of  the  old  war,  and  a  strict  disciplinarian,  inclined  to  be 
austere,  his  smile  of  welcome  gave  me  instantly  a  dis 
tinct  feeling  of  relief. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here  at  Armstrong,  Lieuten 
ant?"  he  questioned,  toying  with  an  official-looking  paper 
in  his  hands. 

"Only  about  three  weeks,  sir.  I  came  north  on  the 
Enterprise,  with  dispatches  from  General  Gaines." 

"I  remember;  you  belong  to  the  Fifth,  and,  without 

10 


ON  FURLOUGH 11 

orders,  I  promptly  dragooned  you  into  garrison  service." 
His  eyes  laughed.  "Only  sorry  I  cannot  hold  you  any 
longer." 

"I  do  not  understand,  sir." 

"Yet  I  presume  you  have  learned  that  the  Wanderer 
stopped  here  for  an  hour  last  night  on  its  way  north  to 
Prairie  du  Chien?" 

"Captain  Thockmorton  just  informed  me." 

"But  you  received  no  mail  ?" 

"No,  sir;  or,  rather,  I  have  not  been  at  the  office  to 
inquire.  Was  there  mail  for  me?" 

"That  I  do  not  know ;  only  I  have  received  a  communi 
cation  relating  to  you.  It  seems  you  have  an  application 
pending  for  a  furlough." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  is  my  pleasure  to  inform  you  that  it  has  been 
granted  —  sixty  days,  with  permission  to  proceed  east. 
There  has  been  considerable  delay  evidently  in  locating 
you." 

A  sudden  vision  arose  before  me  of  my  mother's  face 
and  of  the  old  home  among  the  hills  as  I  took  the  paper 
from  his  extended  hands  and  glanced  at  the  printed  and 
written  lines. 

"The  date  is  a  month  ago." 

"That  need  not  trouble  you,  Knox.  The  furlough  be 
gins  with  this  delivery.  However,  as  I  shall  require  your 
services  as  far  as  St.  Louis,  I  shall  date  its  acceptance 
from  the  time  of  your  arrival  there." 

"Which  is  very  kind,  sir." 

"Not  at  all.  You  have  proven  of  considerable  assist 
ance  here,  and  I  shall  part  from  you  with  regret.  I  have 


12  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

letters  for  Governor  Clark  of  Missouri,  and  Governor 
Reynolds  of  Illinois;  also  one  to  General  Atkinson  at 
Jefferson  Barracks,  detailing  my  views  on  the  present 
Indian  situation.  These  are  confidential,  and  I  hesitate 
to  entrust  them  to  the  regular  mail  service.  I  had  in 
tended  sending  them  down  river  in  charge  of  a  non-com 
missioned  officer,  but  shall  now  utilize  your  services  in 
stead —  that  is,  if  you  are  willing  to  assume  their  care?" 

"Very  gladly,  of  course." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Each  of  these  is  to  be  delivered 
in  person.  Captain  Thockmorton  informs  me  that  he  will 
be  prepared  to  depart  within  an  hour.  You  can  be  ready 
in  that  time  ?" 

I  smiled. 

"In  much  less.  I  have  little  with  me  but  a  field  kit,  sir. 
It  will  not  require  long  to  pack  that." 

"Then  return  here  at  the  first  whistle,  and  the  letters 
will  be  ready  for  you.  That  will  be  all  now." 

I  turned  toward  the  door,  but  paused  irresolutely.  The 
major  \vas  already  bent  over  his  task,  and  writing  rapidly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  as  I  am  still  to  remain  on 
duty,  I  presume  I  must  travel  in  uniform?" 

He  glanced  up,  his  eyes  quizzical,  the  pen  still  grasped 
in  his  fingers. 

"I  could  never  quite  understand  the  eagerness  of  young 
officers  to  get  into  civilian  clothing,"  he  confessed  reflec 
tively.  "Why,  I  haven't  even  had  a  suit  for  ten  years. 
However,  I  can  see  no  necessity  for  your  proclaiming 
your  identity  on  the  trip  down.  Indeed,  it  may  prove  the 
safer  course,  and  technically  I  presume  you  may  be  con 
sidered  as  on  furlough.  Travel  as  you  please,  Lieutenant, 


ON  FURLOUGH 13 

but  I  suggest  it  will  be  well  to  wear  the  uniform  of  your 
rank  when  you  deliver  the  letters.  Is  that  all  ?" 

"I  think  of  nothing  more." 

Fifteen  minutes  sufficed  to  gather  together  all  my  be 
longings,  and  change  from  blue  into  gray,  and,  as  I 
emerged  from  quarters,  the  officers  of  the  garrison 
flocked  about  me  with  words  of  congratulation  and  in 
numerable  questions.  Universal  envy  of  my  good  for 
tune  was  evident,  but  this  assumed  no  unpleasant  form, 
although  much  was  said  to  express  their  belief  in  my  early 
return. 

''Anyway,  you  are  bound  to  wish  you  were  back,"  ex 
claimed  Hartley,  the  senior  captain,  earnestly.  "For  we 
are  going  to  be  in  the  thick  of  it  here  in  less  than  a  month, 
unless  all  signs  fail.  I  was  at  that  last  council,  and  I  tell 
you  that  Sac  devil  means  to  fight." 

"You  may  be  certain  I  shall  be  back  if  he  does,"  I 
answered.  "But  the  Major  seems  to  believe  that  peace 
is  still  possible." 

"No  one  really  knows  what  he  believes,"  insisted  Hart 
ley  soberly.  "Those  letters  you  carry  south  may  contain 
the  truth,  but  if  I  was  in  command  here  we  would  never 
take  the  chances  we  do  now.  Look  at  those  stockade 
gates  standing  wide  open,  and  only  one  sentry  posted. 
Ye  gods !  who  would  ever  suppose  we  were  just  a  handful 
of  men  in  hostile  Indian  territory."  His  voice  increased 
in  earnestness,  his  eyes  sweeping  the  group  of  faces. 
"I've  been  on  this  frontier  for  fourteen  years,  and  visited 
in  Black  Hawk's  camp  a  dozen  times.  He's  a  British 
Indian,  and  hates  everything  American,  Ask  Forsyth." 

"The  Indian  agent  ?" 


14  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Yes,  he  knows.  He's  already  written  Governor  Rey 
nolds,  and  I  saw  the  letter.  His  word  is  that  Keokuk  is 
powerless  to  hold  back  an  explosion;  he  and  the  Hawk 
are  open  enemies,  and  with  the  first  advance  of  settlers 
along  the  Rock  River  Valley  this  whole  border  is  going 
to  be  bathed  in  blood.  And  look  what  we've  got  to  fight 
it  with." 

"Thockmorton  told  me,"  I  explained,  "that  Atkinson 
is  preparing  to  send  in  more  troops ;  he  expects  to  bring  a 
load  north  with  him  on  his  next  trip." 

"From  Jefferson?" 

"Yes ;  they  are  concentrating  there." 

"How  many  regulars  are  there?" 

"About  four  hundred  from  the  First  and  Sixth  regi 
ments." 

He  laughed  scornfully. 

"I  thought  so.  That  means  that  Atkinson  may  send 
two  or  three  hundred  men,  half  of  them  recruits,  to  be 
scattered  between  Madison,  Armstrong  and  Crawford. 
Say  we  are  lucky  enough  to  get  a  hundred  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty  of  them  stationed  here.  Why,  man,  there  are 
five  hundred  warriors  in  Black  Hawk's  camp  at  this  min 
ute,  and  that  is  only  fifteen  miles  away.  Within  ten  days 
he  could  rally  to  him  Kickapoos,  Potawatamies  and  Win- 
nebagoes  in  sufficient  force  to  crush  us  like  an  eggshell. 
Why,  Gaines  ought  to  be  here  himself,  with  a  thousand 
regulars  behind  him." 

"Surely  we  can  defend  Armstrong,"  broke  in  a  confi 
dent  voice.  "The  savages  would  have  to  attack  in  canoes." 

Hartley  turned,  and  confronted  the  speaker. 

"In  canoes!"  he  exclaimed.    "Why,  may  I  ask?    With 


QAT  FURLOUGH 15 

three  hundred  men  here  in  garrison,  how  many  could  we 
spare  to  patrol  the  island?  Not  a  corporal's  guard,  if  we 
retained  enough  to  prevent  an  open  assault  on  the  fort. 
On  any  dark  night  they  could  land  every  warrior  unknown 
to  us.  The  Hawk  knows  that." 

His  voice  had  scarcely  ceased  when  the  boat  whistle 
sounded  hoarse  from  the  landing  below.  Grasping  my 
kit  I  shook  hands  all  around,  and  left  them,  hastening 
across  the  parade  to  the  office.  Ten  minutes  later  I 
crossed  the  gangplank,  and  put  foot  for  the  first  time  on 
the  deck  of  the  Warrior.  Evidently  the  crew  had  been 
awaiting  my  arrival  to  push  off,  for  instantly  the  whistle 
shrieked  again,  and  immediately  after  the  boat  began  to 
churn  its  way  out  into  the  river  current,  with  bow  point 
ing  down  stream.  Little  groups  of  officers  and  enlisted 
men  gathered  high  up  on  the  rocky  headland  to  watch 
us  getting  under  way,  and  I  lingered  beside  the  rail,  wav 
ing  to  them,  as  the  struggling  boat  swept  down,  constantly 
increasing  its  speed.  Even  when  the  last  of  those  black 
spots  had  vanished  in  the  far  distance,  the  flag  on  the  high 
staff  remained  clearly  outlined  against  the  sky,  a  symbol 
of  civilization  in  the  midst  of  that  vast  savage  wilder 
ness.  Thockmorton  leaned  out  from  the  open  window  of 
the  pilot  house  and  hailed  me. 

'Tut  your  dunnage  in  the  third  cabin,  Knox  —  here, 
you,  Sam,  lay  hold  and  help."  . 

It  was  nothing  to  boast  of,  that  third  cabin,  being  a 
mere  hole,  measuring  possibly  about  four  feet  by  seven, 
but  sufficient  for  sleeping  quarters,  and  was  reasonably 
clean.  It  failed,  however,  in  attractiveness  sufficient  to 
keep  me  below,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  deposited  my  bag 


16  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

and  indulged  in  a  somewhat  captious  scrutiny  of  the  bed 
ding,  I  very  willingly  returned  to  the  outside  and  clam 
bered  up  a  steep  ladder  to  the  upper  deck. 

The  view  from  this  point  was  a  most  attractive  one. 
The  little  steamer  struggled  forward  through  the  swift, 
swirling  water,  keeping  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  broad 
stream,  the  white  spray  flung  high  by  her  churning  wheel 
and  sparkling  like  diamonds  in  the  sunshine.  Lightly 
loaded,  a  mere  chip  on  the  mighty  current,  she  seemed  to 
fly  like  a  bird,  impelled  not  only  by  the  force  of  her  en 
gines,  but  swept  irresistibly  on  by  the  grasp  of  the  waters. 
We  were  already  skirting  the  willow-clad  islands,  green 
and  dense  with  foliage  to  the  river's  edge;  and  beyond 
these  could  gain  tantalizing  glimpses  of  the  mouth  of  the 
Rock,  its  waters  gleaming  like  silver  between  grassy 
banks.  The  opposite  shore  appeared  dark  and  gloomy 
in  comparison,  with  great  rock-crowned  bluffs  out 
lined  against  the  sky,  occasionally  assuming  grotesque 
forms,  which  the  boatmen  pointed  out  as  familiar  land 
marks. 

Once  we  narrowly  escaped  collision  with  a  speeding 
Indian  canoe,  containing  two  frightened  occupants,  so 
intent  upon  saving  themselves  they  never  even  glanced 
up  until  we  had  swept  by.  Thockmorton  laughed  heartily 
at  their  desperate  struggle  in  the  swell,  and  several  of 
the  crew7  ran  to  the  stern  to  watch  the  little  cockle-shell 
toss  about  in  the  waves.  It  was  when  I  turned  also,  the 
better  to  assure  myself  of  their  safety,  that  I  discovered 
Judge  Beaucaire  standing  close  beside  me  at  the  low  rail. 
Our  eyes  met  inquiringly,  and  he  bowed  with  all  the  cere 
mony  of  the  old  school. 


ON  FURLOUGH  17 

"A  new  passenger  on  board,  I  think,  sir,"  and  his  deep, 
resonant  voice  left  a  pleasant  impression.  "You  must 
have  joined  our  company  at  Fort  Armstrong?" 

"Your  supposition  is  correct,"  I  answered,  some  pecu 
liar  constraint  preventing  me  from  referring  to  my  mili 
tary  rank.  "My  name  is  Knox,  and  I  have  been  about 
the  island  for  a  few  weeks.  I  believe  you  are  Judge  Beau- 
caire  of  Missouri?" 

He  was  a  splendidly  proportioned  man,  with  deep  chest, 
great  breadth  of  shoulders,  and  strong  individual  face, 
yet  bearing  unmistakable  signs  of  dissipation,  together 
with  numerous  marks  of  both  care  and  age. 

"I  feel  the  honor  of  your  recognition,  sir,"  he  said  with 
dignity.  "Knox,  I  believe  you  said?  Of  the  Knox  fam 
ily  at  Cape  Girardeau,  may  I  inquire?" 

"No  connection  to  my  knowledge;  my  home  was  at 
Wheeling." 

"Ah !  I  have  never  been  so  far  east ;  indeed  the  extent 
of  my  travels  along  the  beautiful  Ohio  has  only  been  to 
the  Falls.  The  Beaucaires  were  originally  from  Louisi 
ana." 

"You  must  have  been  among  the  earlier  settlers  of  Mis 
souri?" 

"Before  the  Americans  came,  sir,"  proudly.  "My 
grandfather  arrived  at  Beaucaire  Landing  during  the  old 
French  regime ;  but  doubtless  you  know  all  this  ?" 

"No,  Judge,"  I  answered,  recognizing  the  egotism  of 
the  man,  but  believing  frankness  to  be  the  best  policy. 
"This  happens  to  be  my  first  trip  on  the  upper  river,  and 
I  merely  chanced  to  know  your  name  because  you  had 
been  pointed  out  to  me  by  Captain  Thockmorton.  I  un- 


18  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

derstood  from  him  that  you  represented  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  that  section." 

"There  were  but  very  few  here  before  us,"  he  an 
swered,  with  undisguised  pride.  "Mostly  wilderness  out 
casts,  voyageurs,  coureurs  de  bois;  but  my  grandfather's 
grant  of  land  was  from  the  King.  Alphonse  de  Beau- 
caire,  sir,  was  the  trusted  lieutenant  of  D'Iberville  —  a 
soldier,  and  a  gentleman." 

I  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  the  family  arrogance  of 
the  man  interesting  me  deeply.  So  evident  was  this  pride 
of  ancestry  that  a  sudden  suspicion  flared  into  my  mind 
that  this  might  be  all  the  man  had  left  —  this  memory  of 
the  past. 

"The  history  of  those  early  days  is  not  altogether 
familiar  to  me,"  I  admitted  regretfully.  "But  surely 
DTberville  must  have  ruled  in  Louisiana  more  than  one 
hundred  years  ago?" 

The  Judge  smiled. 

"Quite  true.  This  grant  of  ours  was  practically  his  last 
official  act.  Alphonse  de  Beaucaire  took  possession  in 
1712,  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago,  sir.  I  was  my 
self  born  at  Beaucaire,  sixty-eight  years  ago." 

"I  should  have  guessed  you  as  ten  years  younger.  And 
the  estate  still  remains  in  its  original  grant?" 

The  smile  of  condescension  deserted  his  eyes,  and  his 
thin  lips  pressed  tightly  together. 

"I  —  I  regret  not;  many  of  the  later  years  have  proven 
disastrous  in  the  extreme,"  he  admitted,  hesitatingly. 
"You  will  pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  decline  to  discuss  misfor 
tune.  Ah,  Monsieur  Kirby!  I  have  been  awaiting  you. 
Have  you  met  with  this  young  man  who  came  aboard 


ON  FURLOUGH  19 

at  Fort  Armstrong?  I  —  I  am  unable  to  recall  the 
name." 

"Steven  Knox." 

I  felt  the  firm,  strong  grip  of  the  other's  hand,  and 
looked  straight  into  his  dark  eyes.  They  were  like  a 
mask.  While,  indeed,  they  seemed  to  smile  in  friendly 
greeting,  they  yet  remained  expressionless,  and  I  was  glad 
when  the  gripping  fingers  released  mine.  The  face  into 
which  I  looked  was  long,  firm- jawed,  slightly  swarthy, 
a  tightly-clipped  black  moustache  shadowing  the  upper  lip. 
It  was  a  reckless  face,  yet  appeared  carved  from  marble. 

"Exceedingly  pleased  to  meet  you,"  he  said  carelessly. 
"Rather  a  dull  lot  on  board  —  miners,  and  such  cattle. 
Bound  for  St.  Louis?" 

"Yes  —  and  beyond." 

"Shall  see  more  of  you  then.  Well,  Judge,  how  do  you 
feel?  Carver  and  McAfee  are  waiting  for  us  down 
below." 

The  two  disappeared  together  down  the  ladder,  and  I 
was  again  left  alone  in  my  occupancy  of  the  upper  deck 


CHAPTER  III 

HISTORY  OF  THE  BEAUCAIRES 

first  two  days  and  nights  of  the  journey  south- 
ward  were  devoid  of  any  special  interest  or  adven 
ture.  The  lonely  river,  wrapped  in  the  silence  of  the  wil 
derness,  brought  to  me  many  a  picture  of  loveliness,  yet 
finally  the  monotony  of  it  all  left  the  mind  drowsy  with 
repetition.  Around  each  tree-crowned  bend  we  swept, 
skirting  shores  so  similar  as  to  scarcely  enable  us  to  real 
ize  our  progress.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  staunch 
little  Warrior  was  proceeding  down  stream,  progress  was 
slow  because  of  the  unmarked  channel,  and  the  ever- 
present  danger  of  encountering  snags.  The  intense  dark 
ness  and  fog  of  the  first  night  compelled  tying  up  for 
several  hours.  The  banks  were  low,  densely  covered  with 
shrubbery,  and  nothing  broke  the  sameness  of  the  river 
scene,  except  the  occasional  sight  of  an  Indian  canoe  skim 
ming  across  its  surface.  Towns  there  were  none,  and  sel 
dom  even  a  sign  of  a  settlement  greeted  the  eye  on  either 
shore.  The  only  landings  were  made  at  Yellow  Banks, 
where  there  was  a  squalid  group  of  log  huts,  and  Fort 
Madison,  where  I  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  the  officers 
of  the  garrison.  Occasionally  the  boat  warped  in  against 
the  bank  to  replenish  its  exhausted  supply  of  wood,  the 
crew  attacking  the  surrounding  trees  with  axes,  \vhile 
the  wearied  passengers  exercised  their  cramped  limbs 
ashore.  Once,  with  some  hours  at  our  disposal,  we  organ- 

20 


HISTORY  OF  THE  BE AUC AIRES  21 

ized  a  hunt,  returning  with  a  variety  of  wild  game.  But 
most  of  the  time  I  idled  the  hours  away  alone. 

No  one  aboard  really  attracted  my  companionship. 
The  lead  miners  were  a  rough  set,  boasting  and  quarrel 
some,  spending  the  greater  part  of  their  time  at  the  bar. 
They  had  several  fights,  in  one  of  which  a  man  was  seri 
ously  stabbed,  so  that  he  had  to  be  left  in  care  of  the  post- 
surgeon  at  Madison.  After  the  first  day  Kirby  withdrew 
all  attention  from  me,  a»d  ceased  in  his  endeavor  to  cul 
tivate  my  acquaintance,  convinced  of  my  disinclination 
to  indulge  in  cards.  This  I  did  not  regret,  although  Beau- 
caire  rather  interested  me,  but,  as  the  gambler  seldom  per 
mitted  the  Judge  out  of  his  sight,  our  intimacy  grew  very 
slowly.  Thockmorton,  being  his  own  pilot,  seldom  left 
the  wheelhouse,  and  consequently  I  passed  many  hours 
on  the  bench  beside  him,  gazing  out  on  the  wide  expanse 
of  river,  and  listening  to  his  reminiscences  of  early  steam- 
boating  days.  He  was  an  intelligent  man,  with  a  fund  of 
anecdote,  acquainted  with  every  landmark,  every  whis 
pered  tale  of  the  great  stream  from  New  Orleans  to 
Prairie  du  Chien.  At  one  time  or  another  he  had  met 
the  famous  characters  along  the  river  banks,  and  through 
continual  questioning  I  thus  finally  became  possessed  of 
the  story  of  the  house  of  Beaucaire. 

In  the  main  it  contained  no  unusual  features.  Through 
the  personal  influence  of  DTberville  at  Louis'  court,  Al- 
phonse  de  Beaucaire  had  originally  received  a  royal  grant 
of  ten  thousand  acres  of  land  bordering  the  west  bank 
of  the  Mississippi  a  few  miles  above  St.  Louis.  When  his 
master  returned  to  France  leaving  him  unemployed,  Beau 
caire,  possessing  ample  means  of  his  own,  had  preferred 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


to  remain  in  America.  In  flatboats,  propelled  by  voy- 
agcurs,  and  accompanied  by  a  considerable  retinue  of 
slaves,  he,  with  his  family,  had  ascended  the  river,  and 
finally  settled  on  his  princely  estate.  Here  he  erected 
what,  for  those  early  days,  was  a  stately  mansion,  and 
devoted  himself  to  cultivating  the  land.  Twenty  years 
later,  when  his  death  occurred,  he  possessed  the  finest 
property  along  the  upper  river,  was  shipping  heavily  to 
the  New  Orleans  market,  and  was  probably  the  most  in 
fluential  man  in  all  that  section.  His  home  was  consid 
ered  a  palace,  always  open  to  frontier  hospitality,  the 
number  of  his  slaves  had  increased,  a  large  proportion 
of  his  land  was  utilized,  and  his  name  was  a  familiar  one 
the  length  of  the  river. 

His  only  son,  Felipe,  succeeded  him,  but  was  not  so 
successful  in  administration,  seriously  lacking  in  business 
judgment,  and  being  decidedly  indolent  by  nature.  Felipe 
married  into  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  respectable  fami 
lies  of  St.  Louis,  and,  as  a  result  of  that  union,  had  one 
son,  Lucius,  who  grew  up  reckless  of  restraint,  and  pre 
ferred  to  spend  his  time  in  New  Orleans,  rather  than  upon 
the  plantation.  Lucius  was  a  young  man  of  t\venty-six, 
unsettled  in  habits  when  the  father  died,  and,  against  his 
inclination,  was  compelled  to  return  to  Missouri  and 
assume  control  of  the  property.  He  found  matters  in 
rather  bad  condition,  and  his  was  not  at  all  the  type  of 
mind  to  remedy  them.  Much  of  the  land  had  been  already 
irretrievably  lost  through  speculation,  and,  when  his 
father's  obligations  had  been  met,  and  his  own  gambling 
debts  paid,  the  estate,  once  so  princely  and  magnificent, 
was  reduced  to  barely  five  hundred  acres,  together  with 


HISTORY  OF  THE  BE  A  UC  AIRES  23 

a  comparatively  small  amount  of  cash.  This  condition 
sufficed  to  sober  Lucius  for  a  few  years,  and  he  married 
a  Menard,  of  Cape  Girardeau,  of  excellent  family  but  not 
great  wealth,  and  earnestly  endeavored  to  rebuild  his  for 
tunes.  Unfortunately  his  reform  did  not  last.  The  evil 
influences  of  the  past  soon  proved  too  strong  for  one  of 
his  temperament.  A  small  town,  redolent  of  all  the  vices 
of  the  river,  grew  up  about  the  Landing,  while  friends  of 
other  days  sought  his  hospitality.  The  plantation  house 
became  in  time  a  rendezvous  for  all  the  wild  spirits  of 
that  neighborhood,  and  stories  of  fierce  drinking  bouts 
and  mad  gambling  were  current  in  St.  Louis. 

Common  as  such  tales  as  these  were  in  those  early  days 
of  the  West,  I  still  remained  boy  enough  in  heart  to  feel 
a  fascination  in  Thockmorton's  narrative.  Besides,  there 
was  at  the  time  so  little  else  to  occupy  my  mind  that  it 
inevitably  drifted  back  to  the  same  topic. 

"Have  you  ever  been  at  Beaucaire,  Captain  ?"  I  asked, 
eager  for  more  intimate  details. 

"We  always  stop  at  the  Landing,  but  I  have  only  once 
been  up  the  bluff  to  where  the  house  stands.  It  must  have 
been  a  beautiful  place  in  its  day;  it  is  imposing  even  now, 
but  showing  signs  of  neglect  and  abuse.  The  Judge  was 
away  from  home  —  in  St.  Louis,  I  believe  —  the  day  of 
my  visit.  He  had  sold  me  some  timber,  and  I  went  out 
with  the  family  lawyer,  a  man  named  Haines  living  at  the 
Landing,  to  look  it  over." 

"The  house  was  closed?" 

"No;  it  is  never  closed.  The  housekeeper  was  there, 
and  also  the  two  daughters." 

"Daughters?" 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


"Certainly ;  hadn't  I  told  you  about  them  ?  Both  girls 
are  accepted  as  his  daughters;  but,  if  all  I  have  heard  is 
true,  one  must  be  a"  granddaughter."  He  paused  remi- 
niscently,  his  eyes  on  the  river.  "To  all  appearances  they 
are  about  of  the  same  age,  but  differing  rather  widely 
in  looks  and  character.  Both  are  attractive  girls  I  judge, 
although  I  only  had  a  glimpse  of  them,  and  at  the  time 
knew  nothing  of  the  difference  in  relationship.  I  natu 
rally  supposed  them  to  be  sisters,  until  Haines  and  I  got 
to  talking  about  the  matter  on  the  way  back.  Pshaw, 
Knox,  you've  got  me  gossiping  like  an  old  woman." 

I  glanced  aside  at  his  face. 

"This,  then,  is  not  common  river  talk?  the  truth  is  not 
generally  known?" 

"No;  I  have  never  heard  it  mentioned  elsewhere,  nor 
have  I  previously  repeated  the  story.  However,  now  that 
the  suggestion  has  slipped  out,  perhaps  I  had  better  go 
ahead  and  explain."  He  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  I  waited, 
seemingly  intent  on  the  scene  without.  The  captain  was 
a  minute  or  two  in  deciding  how  far  he  would  venture. 
"Haines  told  me  a  number  of  strange  things  about  that 
family  I  had  never  heard  before,"  he  admitted  at  last. 
"You  see  he  has  known  them  for  years,  and  attended  to 
most  of  Beaucaire's  legal  business.  I  don't  know  why 
he  chanced  to  take  me  into  his  confidence,  only  he  had 
been  drinking  some,  and,  I  reckon,  was  a  bit  lonely  for 
companionship ;  then  those  two  girls  interested  me,  and  I 
asked  quite  a  few  questions  about  them.  At  first  Haines 
was  close  as  a  clam,  but  finally  loosened  up,  and  this  is 
about  how  the  story  runs,  as  he  told  it.  It  wasn't  gener 
ally  known,  but  it  seems  that  Lucius  Beaucaire  has  been 


HISTORY  OF  THE  BEAUCAIRES  25 

married  twice  —  the  first  time  to  a  Creole  girl  in  New 
Orleans  when  he  was  scarcely  more  than  a  boy.  Nobody 
now  living  probably  knows  what  ever  became  of  her,  but 
likely  she  died  early;  anyway  she  never  came  north,  or 
has  since  been  heard  from.  The  important  part  is  that 
she  gave  birth  to  a  son,  who  remained  in  New  Orleans, 
probably  in  her  care,  until  he  was  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  old.  Then  some  occurrence,  possibly  his  mother's 
death,  caused  the  Judge  to  send  for  the  lad,  whose  name 
was  Adelbert,  and  had  him  brought  to  Missouri.  All  this 
happened  before  Haines  settled  at  the  Landing,  and 
previous  to  Beaucaire's  second  marriage  to  Mademoiselle 
Menard.  Bert,  as  the  boy  was  called,  grew  up  wild,  and 
father  and  son  quarreled  so  continuously  that  finally, 
and  before  he  was  twenty,  the  latter  ran  away,  and  has 
never  been  heard  of  since.  All  they  ever  learned  was  that 
he  drifted  down  the  river  on  a  flatboat." 

"And  he  never  came  back?" 

"Not  even  a  letter.  He  simply  disappeared,  and  no 
one  knows  to  this  day  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead.  At 
least  if  Judge  Beaucaire  ever  received  any  word  from  him 
he  never  confessed  as  much  to  Haines.  However,  the 
boy  left  behind  tangible  evidence  of  his  existence." 

"  You  mean  —  " 

"In  the  form  of  a  child,  born  to  a  quadroon  slave  girl 
named  Delia.  The  mother,  it  seems,  was  able  in  some 
way  to  convince  the  Judge  of  the  child's  parentage.  All 
this  happened  shortly  before  Beaucaire's  second  marriage, 
and  previous  to  the  time  when  Haines  came  to  the  Land 
ing.  Exactly  what  occurred  is  not  clear,  or  what  explana 
tion  was  made  to  the  bride.  The  affair  must  have  cut 


26 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN ^ 

Beaucaire's  pride  deeply,  but  he  had  to  face  the  condi 
tions.  It  ended  in  his  making  the  girl  Delia  his  house 
keeper,  while  her  child  —  the  offspring  of  Adelbert  Beau- 
caire  —  was  brought  up  as  a  daughter.  A  year  or  so 
later,  the  second  wife  gave  birth  to  a  female  child,  and 
those  two  girls  have  grown  up  together  exactly  as  though 
they  were  sisters.  Haines  insists  that  neither  of  them 
knows  to  this  day  otherwise." 

"But  that  would  be  simply  impossible,"  I  insisted. 
"The  mother  would  never  permit." 

"The  mother !  which  mother?  The  slave  mother  could 
gain  nothing  by  confession;  and  the  Judge's  wife  died 
when  her  baby  was  less  than  two  years  old.  Delia  prac 
tically  mothered  the  both  of  them,  and  is  still  in  complete 
charge  of  the  house." 

"You  met  her?" 

"She  was  pointed  out  to  me  —  a  gray-haired,  dignified 
woman,  so  nearly  white  as  scarcely  to  be  suspected  of 
negro  blood." 

"Yet  still  a  slave?" 

"I  cannot  answer  that.  Haines  himself  did  not  know. 
If  manumission  papers  had  ever  been  executed  it  was  done 
early,  before  he  took  charge  of  Beaucaire's  legal  affairs. 
The  matter  never  came  to  his  attention." 

"But  surely  he  must  at  some  time  have  discussed  this 
with  the  Judge?" 

"No ;  at  least  not  directly.  Beaucaire  is  not  a  man  to 
approach  easily.  He  is  excessively  proud,  and  possesses 
a  fiery  temper.  Once,  Haines  told  me,  he  ventured  a  hint, 
but  was  rebuffed  so  fiercely  as  never  to  make  a  second  at 
tempt.  It  was  his  opinion  the  Judge  actually  hated  the 


HISTORY  OF  THE  BE AUC AIRES  27 

sight  of  his  son's  child,  and  only  harbored  her  in  the 
house  because  he  was  compelled  to  do  so.  All  Haines 
really  knew  about  these  conditions  had  been  told  him 
secretly  by  an  old  negro  slave,  probably  the  only  one  left 
on  the  estate  knowing  the  facts." 

"But,  Captain,"  I  exclaimed,  "do  you  realize  what  this 
might  mean?  If  Judge  Beaucaire  has  not  issued  papers 
of  freedom,  this  woman  Delia  is  still  a  slave." 

"Certainly." 

"And  under  the  law  her  child  was  born  into  slavery?" 

"No  doubt  of  that." 

"But  the  unspeakable  horror  of  it  —  this  young  woman 
brought  up  as  free,  educated  and  refined,  suddenly  to 
discover  herself  to  be  a  negro  under  the  law,  and  a  slave. 
Why,  suppose  Beaucaire  should  die,  or  lose  his  property 
suddenly,  she  could  be  sold  to  the  cotton  fields,  into  bond 
age  to  anyone  who  would  pay  the  price  for  her." 

Thockmorton  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"Of  course,"  he  admitted  slowly.  "There  is  no  ques 
tion  as  to  the  law,  but  I  have  little  doubt  but  what  Beau 
caire  has  attended  to  this  matter  long  ago.  If  he  dies,  the 
papers  will  be  found  hidden  away  somewhere.  It  is  be 
yond  conception  that  he  could  ever  leave  the  girl  to  such 
a  fate." 

I  shook  my  head,  obsessed  with  a  shadow  of  doubt. 

"A  mistake  men  often  make- — the  putting  off  to  the 
last  moment  doing  the  disagreeable  task.  How  many, 
expecting  to  live,  delay  the  making  of  a  will  until  too  late. 
In  this  case  I  am  unable  to  conceive  why,  if  Beaucaire  has 
ever  signed  papers  of  freedom  for  these  two,  the  fact 
remains  unknown  even  to  his  lawyer.  One  fact  is  certain. 


28  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

nothing  bearing  upon  the  case  has  been  recorded,  or 
Haines  would  know  of  it." 

"There  is  nothing  on  record.  Haines  assured  himself 
as  to  that  some  years  ago.  The  fact  is,  Knox,  that  while 
I  hope  this  provision  has  been  made,  there  remains  a  doubt 
in  my  mind.  Beaucaire  has  traveled  on  my  boat  several 
times,  but  he's  an  unsociable  fellow ;  I  don't  like  him ;  he's 
not  my  kind.  If  he  still  harbors  hatred  toward  that  run 
away  son  —  and  to  my  notion  he  is  exactly  that  sort- — he 
will  never  feel  any  too  kindly  toward  Delia,  or  her  child. 
If  he  has  not  freed  them,  that  will  be  the  reason  —  no 
neglect,  but  a  contemptible  revenge." 

"What  are  the  two  girls  named?" 

"Rene,  and  Eloise." 

"Which  one  is  the  daughter?" 

"Really,  Lieutenant,  I  do  not  know.  You  see  I  was 
never  introduced,  but  merely  gained  a  glimpse  of  them 
in  the  garden.  I  doubt  if  I  would  recognize  the  one  from 
the  other  now.  You  see  all  this  story  was  told  me  later." 

I  sat  there  a  long  while,  after  he  had  gone  below,  the 
taciturn  mate  at  the  wheel.  The  low,  wooded  shores 
swept  past  in  changing  panorama,  yet  I  could  not  divorce 
my  mind  from  this  perplexing  problem.  Totally  unknown 
to  me  as  these  two  mysterious  girls  were,  their  strange 
story  fascinated  my  imagination.  What  possible  tragedy 
lay  before  them  in  the  years  ?  what  horrible  revelation  to 
wrench  them  asunder?  to  change  in  a  single  instant  the 
quiet  current  of  their  lives  ?  About  them,  unseen  as  yet, 
lurked  a  grim  specter,  waiting  only  the  opportunity  to 
grip  them  both  in  the  fingers  of  disgrace,  and  make  instant 
mock  of  all  their  plans.  In  spite  of  every  effort,  every 


HISTORY  OF  THE  BE AUC AIRES  29 

lurking  hope,  some  way  I  could  not  rid  myself  of  the 
thought  that  Beaucaire  —  either  through  sheer  neglect, 
or  some  instinct  of  bitter  hatred  —  had  failed  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  his  duty.  Even  as  I  sat  there,  strug 
gling  vainly  against  this  suspicion,  the  Judge  himself 
came  forth  upon  the  lower  deck,  and  began  pacing  back 
and  forth  restlessly  beside  the  rail.  It  was  a  struggle 
for  me  not  to  join  him;  the  impetuousity  of  youth  urging 
me  even  to  brave  his  anger  in  my  eagerness  to  ascertain 
the  whole  truth.  Yet  I  possessed  sense  enough,  or  discre 
tion,  to  refrain,  realizing  dimly  that,  not  even  in  the  re 
motest  degree,  had  I  any  excuse  for  such  action.  This 
was  no  affair  of  mine.  Nor,  indeed,  would  I  have  found 
much  opportunity  for  private  conversation,  for,  only  a 
moment  or  two  later,  Kirby  joined  him,  and  the  two  re 
mained  together,  talking  earnestly,  until  the  gong  called 
us  all  to  supper. 

Across  the  long  table,  bare  of  cloth,  the  coarse  food 
served  in  pewter  dishes,  I  was  struck  by  the  drawn, 
ghastly  look  in  Beaucaire's  face.  He  had  aged  percepti 
bly  in  the  last  few  hours,  and  during  the  meal  scarcely 
exchanged  a  word  with  anyone,  eating  silently,  his  eyes 
downcast.  Kirby,  however,  was  the  life  of  the  company, 
and  the  miners  roared  at  his  humorous  stories,  and  anec 
dotes  of  adventure  —  while  outside  it  grew  dark,  and  the 
little  Warrior  struggled  cautiously  through  the  waters, 
seeking  the  channel  in  the  gloom. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  END  OF  THE  GAME 

T  T  NCONSCIOUS  that  the  stage  had  thus  been  set  for 
^  a  great  life  drama,  a  drama  in  which,  through 
strange  circumstances,  I  was  destined  to  play  my  part 
amid  stirring  scenes  of  Indian  war,  and  in  surroundings 
that  would  test  my  courage  and  manhood  to  the  utter 
most;  yet,  although  I  heard  it  not,  the  hour  had  already 
struck,  and  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  a  tragedy  beyond  my 
power  to  avert. 

I  left  the  others  still  seated  about  the  table,  and  returned 
alone  to  the  outer  deck.  I  had  no  plans  for  the  evening, 
and  retain  now  only  slight  recollection  as  to  the  happen 
ings  of  the  next  few  hours,  which  I  passed  quietly 
smoking  in  the  darkened  pilot  house,  conversing  occa 
sionally  with  Thockmorton,  who  clung  to  the  wheel, 
carefully  guiding  his  struggling  boat  through  the  night- 
draped  waters.  The  skill  with  which  he  found  passage 
through  the  enshrouding  gloom,  guided  by  signs  invisi 
ble  to  my  eyes,  aided  only  by  a  fellow  busily  casting  a 
lead  line  in  the  bows,  and  chanting  the  depth  of  water, 
was  amazing.  Seemingly  every  flitting  shadow  brought 
its  message,  every  faint  glimmer  of  starlight  pointed  the 
way  to  safety. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  midnight  before  I  finally 
wearied  of  this,  and  decided  to  seek  a  few  hours'  rest 
below,  descending  the  short  ladder,  and  walking  forward 

30 


THE  END  OF  THE  GAME  31 

along  the  open  deck  for  one  last  glance  ahead.  Some 
time  the  next  day  we  were  to  be  in  St.  Louis,  and  this 
expectation  served  to  brighten  my  thoughts.  It  was  a 
dark  night,  but  with  a  clear  sky,  the  myriad  of  stars  over 
head  reflecting  their  lights  along  the  river  surface,  and 
bringing  into  bold  relief  the  dense  shadows  of  the  shores 
on  either  side.  The  boat,  using  barely  enough  power  to 
afford  steering  way,  swept  majestically  down  stream, 
borne  by  the  force  of  the  current,  which  veered  from  bank 
to  bank.  We  were  moving  scarcely  swifter  than  from 
eight  to  ten  miles  an  hour,  and  the  monotonous  voice  of 
the  man  casting  the  lead  line  arose  continuous  through 
the  brooding  silence.  The  only  other  perceptible  sounds 
were  the  exhaust  of  the  steam  pipes  and  the  splash  of 
running  water.  Thockmorton  had  told  me  we  were 
already  approaching  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois,  and  I 
lingered  against  the  rail,  straining  my  eyes  through  the 
gloom  hoping  to  gain  a  distant  glimpse  of  that  beautiful 
stream.  We  were  skirting  the  eastern  shore,  the  wooded 
bank  rising  almost  as  high  as  our  smokestack,  and  com 
pletely  shutting  off  all  view  of  the  horizon. 

As  I  stood  there,  gripping  the  rail,  half  fearful  lest 
we  strike,  the  furnace  doors  below  were  suddenly  flung 
open  for  a  fresh  feeding  of  the  fire,  and  the  red 
glare  of  the  fire  lit  up  the  scene.  Close  in  against 
the  shore  nestled  a  flatboat,  evidently  tied  up  for  the 
night,  and  I  had  a  swift  glimpse  as  we  shot  by  of 
a  startled  man  waving  his  arms,  and  behind  him  a 
wildly  barking  dog.  An  instant  more  and  the  vision 
had  vanished  as  quickly  as  it  had  appeared;  even  the 
dog's  sharp  bark  dying  away  in  the  distance.  The  fur- 


32  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

nace  doors  banged  shut,  and  all  was  again  darkness  and 
silence. 

I  turned  back  along  the  deserted  deck,  only  pausing  a 
moment  to  glance  carelessly  in  through  the  front  win 
dows  of  the  main  cabin.  The  forward  portion  was 
wrapped  in  darkness,  and  unoccupied,  but  beyond,  toward 
the  rear  of  the  long  salon,  a  considerable  group  of  men 
were  gathered  closely  about  a  small  table,  above  which  a 
swinging  lamp  burned  brightly,  the  rays  of  light  illuminat 
ing  the  various  faces.  I  recognized  several,  and  they  were 
apparently  a  deeply  interested  group,  for,  even  at  that 
distance,  I  could  plainly  note  the  excitement  stamped  upon 
their  countenances,  and  the  nervousness  with  which  they 
moved  about  seeking  clearer  view.  There  were  so  many 
closely  wedged  together  as  to  obstruct  my  vision  of  what 
was  occurring,  yet  I  felt  no  doubt  but  that  they  watched 
a  game  of  cards;  a  desperate  struggle  of  chance,  involv 
ing  no  small  sum  to  account  for  such  intense  feeling  on 
the  part  of  mere  onlookers.  Gambling  was  no  novelty 
on  the  great  river  in  those  days,  gambling  for  high  stakes, 
and  surely  no  ordinary  game,  involving  a  small  sum, 
would  ever  arouse  the  depth  of  interest  displayed  by  these 
men.  Some  instinct  told  me  that  the  chief  players  would 
be  Kirby  and  Beaucaire,  and,  writh  quickening  pulse,  I 
opened  the  cabin  door  and  entered. 

No  one  noted  my  approach,  or  so  much  as  glanced  up, 
the  attention  of  the  crowd  riveted  upon  the  players.  There 
were  four  holding  cards  —  the  Judge,  Kirby,  Carver,  and 
McAfee;  but  I  judged  at  a  glance  that  the  latter  two  were 
merely  in  the  game  as  a  pretense,  the  betting  having 
already  gone  far  beyond  the  limit  of  their  resources. 


THE  END  OF  THE  GAME 33 

Without  a  thought  as  to  the  cards  they  held,  my  eyes 
sought  the  faces  of  the  two  chief  players,  and  then 
visioned  the  stakes  displayed  on  the  table  before  them. 
McAfee  and  Carter  were  clearly  enough  out  of  it,  their 
cards  still  gripped  in  their  fingers,  as  they  leaned  breath 
lessly  forward  to  observe  more  closely  the  play.  The 
Judge  sat  upright,  his  attitude  strained,  staring  down  at 
his  hand,  his  face  white,  and  eyes  burning  feverishly. 
That  he  had  been  drinking  heavily  was  evident,  but  Kirby 
fronted  him  in  apparent  cold  indifference,  his  feelings 
completely  masked,  with  the  cards  he  held  bunched  in  his 
hands,  and  entirely  concealed  from  view.  No  twitch  of 
an  eyelash,  no  quiver  of  a  muscle  revealed  his  knowledge; 
his  expressionless  face  might  have  been  carved  out  of 
stone.  Between  the  two  rested  a  stack  of  gold  coin,  a 
roll  of  crushed  bills,  and  a  legal  paper  of  some  kind,  the 
exact  nature  of  which  I  could  not  determine.  I  leaned 
forward,  but  could  only  perceive  that  it  bore  the  official 
stamp  of  some  recording  office  —  a  deed,  perhaps,  to 
some  of  the  remaining  acres  of  Beaucaire.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  a  fortune  already  rested  on  that  table,  awaiting 
the  flip  of  a  card.  The  silence,  the  breathless  attention, 
convinced  me  that  the  crisis  had  been  reached  —  it  was 
the  Judge's  move;  he  must  cover  the  last  bet,  or  throw 
down  his  hand  a  loser. 

Perspiration  beaded  his  forehead,  and  he  crunched 
the  cards  savagely  in  his  hands.  His  glance  swept 
past  the  crowd,  as  though  he  saw  nothing  of  their 
faces. 

"Another  drink,  Sam,"  he  called,  the  voice  tremb 
ling.  He  tossed  down  the  glass  of  liquor  as  though  it 


34  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

were  so  much  water,  but  made  no  other  effort  to 
speak.  You  could  hear  the  strained  breathing  of  the 
men.  , 

"Well,"  said  Kirby  sneeringly,  his  cold  gaze  survey 
ing  his  motionless  opponent.  "You  seem  to  be  taking 
your  time.  Do  you  cover  my  bet  ?" 

Someone  laughed  nervously,  and  a  voice  sang  out  over 
my  shoulder,  "You  might  as  well  go  the  whole  hog, 
Judge.  The  niggers  won't  be  no  good  without  the  land 
ter  work  'em  on.  Fling  'em  into  the  pot  —  they're  as 
good  as  money." 

Beaucaire  looked  up,  red-eyed,  into  the  impassive  coun 
tenance  opposite.  His  lips  twitched,  yet  managed  to  make 
words  issue  between  them. 

"How  about  that,  Kirby?"  he  asked  hoarsely.  "Will 
you  accept  a  bill  of  sale?" 

Kirby  grinned,  shuffling  his  hand  carelessly. 

"Why  not  ?  'twon't  be  the  first  time  I've  played  for  nig 
gers.  They  are  worth  so  much  gold  down  the  river. 
What  have  you  got?" 

"I  can't  tell  that  offhand,"  sullenly.  "About  twenty 
field  hands." 

"And  house  servants  ?" 

"Three  or  four." 

The  gambler's  lips  set  more  tightly,  a  dull  gleam  creep 
ing  into  his  eyes. 

"See  here,  Beaucaire,"  he  hissed  sharply.  "This  is  my 
game  and  I  play  square  and  never  squeal.  I  know  about 
what  you've  got,  for  I've  looked  them  over;  thought  we 
might  get  down  to  this  sometime.  I  can  make  a  pretty 
fair  guess  as  to  what  your  niggers  are  worth.  That's 


THE  END  OF  THE  GAME  35 

why  I  just  raised  you  ten  thousand,  and  put  up  the  money. 
Now,  if  you  think  this  is  a  bluff,  call  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  I  will  accept  your  niggers  as  covering  my  bet." 

"The  field  hands?"* 

Kirby  smiled  broadly. 

"The  whole  bunch  —  field  hands  and  house  servants. 
Most  of  them  are  old;  I  doubt  if  all  together  they  will 
bring  that  amount,  but  I'll  take  the  risk.  Throw  in  a 
blanket  bill  of  sale,  and  we'll  turn  up  our  cards.  If  you 
won't  do  that,  the  pile  is  mine  as  it  stands." 

Beaucaire  again  wet  his  lips,  staring  at  the  uncovered 
cards  in  his  hands.  He  could  not  lose ;  with  what  he  held 
no  combination  was  possible  which  could  beat  him.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  this  knowledge,  the  cold,  sneering  confidence 
of  Kirby,  brought  with  it  a  strange  fear.  The  man  was 
a  professional  gambler.  What  gave  him  such  reckless 
ness  ?  Why  should  he  be  so  eager  to  risk  such  a  sum  on 
an  inferior  hand  ?  McAfee,  sitting  next  him,  leaned  over, 
managed  to  gain  swift  glimpse  at  what  he  held,  and 
eagerly  whispered  to  him  a  word  of  encouragement.  The 
Judge  straightened  up  in  his  chair,  grasped  a  filled  glass 
some  one  had  placed  at  his  elbow,  and  gulped  down  the 
contents.  The  whispered  words,  coupled  with  the  fiery 
liquor,  gave  him  fresh  courage. 

"By  God,  Kirby!  I'll  do  it!"  he  blurted  out.  "You 
can't  bluff  me  on  the  hand  I've  got.  Give  me  a  sheet  of 
paper,  somebody  —  yes,  that  will  do." 

He  scrawled  a  half-dozen  lines,  fairly  digging  the  pen 
into  the  sheet  in  his  fierce  eagerness,  and  then  signed  the 
document,  flinging  the  paper  across  toward  Kirby. 


36  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

'There,  you  blood-sucker,"  he  cried  insolently.  "Is 
that  all  right  ?  Will  that  do  ?" 

The  imperturbable  gambler  read  it  over  slowly,  care 
fully  deciphering  each  word,  his  thin  lips  tightly  com 
pressed. 

"You  might  add  the  words,  This  includes  every  chat 
tel  slave  legally  belonging  to  me,'  "  he  said  grimly. 

"That  is  practically  what  I  did  say." 

"Then  you  can  certainly  have  no  objection  to  putting  it 
in  the  exact  words  I  choose,"  calmly.  "I  intend  to  have 
what  is  coming  to  me  if  I  win,  and  I  know  the  law." 

Beaucaire  angrily  wrote  in  the  required  extra  line. 

"Now  what  ?"  he  asked. 

"Let  McAfee  there  sign  it  as  a  witness,  and  then  toss 
it  over  into  the  pile."  He  smiled,  showing  a  line  of  white 
teeth  beneath  his  moustache.  "Nice  little  pot,  gentle 
men —  the  Judge  must  hold  some  cards  to  take  a  chance 
like  that,"  the  words  uttered  with  a  sneer.  "Fours,  at 
least,  or  maybe  he  has  had  the  luck  to  pick  a  straight 
flush." 

Beaucaire's  face  reddened,  and  his  eyes  grew  hard. 

"That's  my  business,"  he  said  tersely.  "Sign  it,  Mc 
Afee,  and  I'll  call  this  crowing  cockerel.  You  young 
fool,  I  played  poker  before  you  were  born.  There  now, 
Kirby,  I've  covered  your  bet." 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  raise  it?" 

"You  hell-hound  —  no!  That  is  my  limit,  and  you 
know  it.  Don't  crawl  now,  or  do  any  more  bluffing. 
Show  your  hand  —  I've  called  you." 

Kirby  sat  absolutely  motionless,  his  cards  lying  face 
down  upon  the  table,  the  white  fingers  of  one  hand  rest- 


THE  END  OF  THE  GAME  37 

ing  lightly  upon  them,  the  other  arm  concealed.  He  never 
once  removed  his  gaze  from  Beaucaire's  face,  and  his 
expression  did  not  change,  except  for  the  almost  insulting 
sneer  on  his  lips.  The  silence  was  profound,  the  deeply 
interested  men  leaning  forward,  even  holding  their  breath 
in  intense  eagerness.  Each  realized  that  a  fortune  lay 
on  the  table;  knew  that  the  old  Judge  had  madly  staked 
his  all  on  the  value  of  those  five  unseen  cards  gripped  in 
his  fingers.  Again,  as  though  to  bolster  up  his  shaken 
courage,  he  stared  at  the  face  of  each,  then  lifted  his 
blood-shot  eyes  to  the  impassive  face  opposite. 

"Beaucaire  drew  two  kayards,"  whispered  an  excited 
voice  near  me. 

"Hell !  so  did  Kirby,"  replied  another.  "They're  both 
of  'em  old  hands." 

The  sharp  exhaust  of  a  distant  steam  pipe  below  punc 
tuated  the  silence,  and  several  glanced  about  apprehen 
sively.  As  this  noise  ceased  Beaucaire  lost  all  control 
over  his  nerves. 

"Come  on,  play  your  hand,"  he  demanded,  "or  I'll 
throw  my  cards  in  your  face." 

The  insinuating  sneer  on  Kirby's  lips  changed  into  the 
semblance  of  a  smile.  Slowly,  deliberately,  never  once 
glancing  down  at  the  face  of  his  cards,  he  turned  them 
up  one  by  one  with  his  white  fingers,  his  challenging  eyes 
on  the  Judge ;  but  the  others  saw  what  was  revealed  —  a 
ten  spot,  a  knave,  a  queen,  a  king,  and  an  ace. 

"Good  God !  a  straight  flush !"  someone  yelled  excitedly. 
"Damned  if  I  ever  saw  one  before !" 

For  an  instant  Beaucaire  never  moved,  never  uttered  a 
sound.  He  seemed  to  doubt  the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes, 


38  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

and  to  have  lost  the  power  of  speech.  Then  from  nerve 
less  hands  his  own  cards  fell  face  downward,  still  un- 
revealed,  upon  the  table.  The  next  moment  he  was  on  his 
feet,  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  seated  flung  crashing 
behind  him  on  the  deck. 

"You  thief!"  he  roared,  "You  dirty,  low-down  thief; 
I  held  four  aces  —  where  did  you  get  the  fifth  one?" 

Kirby  did  not  so  much  as  move,  nor  betray  even  by  a 
change  of  expression  his  sense  of  the  situation.  Per 
haps  he  anticipated  just  such  an  explosion,  and  was  fully 
prepared  to  meet  it.  One  hand  still  rested  easily  on  the 
table,  the  other  remaining  hidden. 

"So  you  claim  to  have  held  four  aces,"  he  said  coldly. 
"Where  are  they?" 

McAfee  swept  the  discarded  hand  face  upward,  and 
the  crowd  bending  forward  to  look  saw  four  aces,  and 
a  king. 

"That  was  the  Judge's  hand,"  he  declared  soberly. 
"I  saw  it  myself  before  he  called  you,  and  told  him  to 
stay." 

Kirby  laughed,  an  ugly  laugh  showing  his  white  teeth. 

"The  hell,  you  did  ?  Thought  you  knew  a  good  poker 
hand,  I  reckon.  Well,  you  see  I  knew  a  better  one,  and 
it  strikes  me  I  am  the  one  to  ask  questions,"  he  sneered. 
"Look  here,  you  men;  I  held  one  ace  from  the  shuffle. 
Now  what  I  want  to  know  is,  where  Beaucaire  ever  got  his 
four?  Pleasant  little  trick  of  you  two  —  only  this  time  it 
failed  to  work." 

Beaucaire  uttered  one  mad  oath,  and  I  endeavored  to 
grasp  him,  but  missed  my  clutch.  The  force  of  his  lurch 
ing  body  as  he  sprang  forward  upturned  the  table,  the 


THE  END  OF  THE  GAME 39 

stakes  jingling  to  the  deck,  but  Kirby  reached  his  feet 
in  time  to  avoid  the  shock.  His  hand  which  had  been 
hidden  shot  out  suddenly,  the  fingers  grasping  a  revolver, 
but  he  did  not  fire.  Before  the  Judge  had  gone  half  the 
distance,  he  stopped,  reeled  suddenly,  clutching  at  his 
throat,  and  plunged  sideways.  His  body  struck  the  up 
turned  table,  and  McAfee  and  I  grasped  him,  lowering 
the  stricken  man  gently  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  V 

KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND 

scene,  with  all  its  surroundings,  remains  in- 
delibly  impressed  upon  my  memory.  It  will  never 
fade  while  I  live.  The  long,  narrow,  dingy  cabin  of  the 
little  Warrior,  its  forward  end  unlighted  and  in  shadow, 
the  single  swinging  lamp,  suspended  to  a  blackened  beam 
above  where  the  table  had  stood,  barely  revealing  through 
its  smoky  chimney  the  after  portion  showing  a  row  of 
stateroom  doors  on  either  side,  some  standing  ajar,  and 
that  crowd  of  excited  men  surging  about  the  fallen  body 
of  Judge  Beaucaire,  unable  as  yet  to  fully  realize  the 
exact  nature  of  what  had  occurred,  but  conscious  of  im 
pending  tragedy.  The  air  was  thick  and  stifling  with 
tobacco  smoke,  redolent  of  the  sickening  fumes  of  alcohol, 
and  noisy  with  questioning  voices,  while  above  every 
other  sound  might  be  distinguished  the  sharp  pulsations  of 
the  laboring  engine  just  beneath  our  feet,  the  deck  planks 
trembling  to  the  continuous  throbbing.  The  overturned 
table  and  chairs,  the  motionless  body  of  the  fallen  man, 
with  Kirby  standing  erect  just  beyond,  his  face  as  clear- 
cut  under  the  glare  of  light  as  a  cameo,  the  revolver  yet 
glistening  in  his  extended  hand,  all  composed  a  picture 
not  easily  forgotten. 

Still,  this  impression  was  only  that  of  a  brief  instant. 
With  the  next  I  was  upon  my  knees,  lifting  the  fallen 
head,  and  seeking  eagerly  to  discern  some  lingering  evi- 

40 


KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND  41 

dence  of  life  in  the  inert  body.  There  was  none,  not  so 
much  as  the  faint  flutter  of  a  pulse,  or  suggestion  of  a 
heart  throb.  The  man  was  already  dead  before  he  fell, 
dead  before  he  struck  the  overturned  table.  Nothing 
any  human  effort  might  do  would  help  him  now.  My 
eyes  lifting  from  the  white,  ghastly  face  encountered 
those  of  McAfee,  and,  without  the  utterance  of  a  word, 
I  read  the  miner's  verdict,  and  arose  again  to  my  feet. 

"Judge  Beaucaire  is  dead,"  I  announced  gravely. 
"Nothing  more  can  be  done  for  him  now." 

The  pressing  circle  of  men  hemming  us  in  fell  back 
silently,  reverently,  the  sound  of  their  voices  sinking  into 
a  subdued  murmur.  It  had  all  occurred  so  suddenly, 
so  unexpectedly,  that  even  these  witnesses  could 
scarcely  grasp  the  truth.  They  were  dazed,  leaderless, 
struggling  to  restrain  themselves.  As  I  stood  there,  al 
most  unconscious  of  their  presence,  still  staring  down  at 
that  upturned  face,  now  appearing  manly  and  patrician 
in  the  strange  dignity  of  its  death  mask,  a  mad  burst  of 
anger  swept  me,  a  fierce  yearning  for  revenge  —  a  feeling 
that  this  was  no  less  a  murder  because  Nature  had  struck 
the  blow.  With  hot  words  of  reproach  upon  my  lips  I 
gazed  across  toward  where  Kirby  had  been  standing  a 
moment  before.  The  gambler  was  no  longer  there  —  his 
place  was  vacant. 

"Where  is  Kirby?"  I  asked,  incredulous  of  his  sudden 
disappearance. 

For  a  moment  no  one  answered;  then  a  voice  in  the 
crowd  croaked  hoarsely: 

"He  just  slipped  out  through  that  after  door  to  the 
deck  —  him  and  Bill  Carver." 


42 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN  

"And  the  stakes?" 

Another  answered  in  a  thin,  piping  treble. 

"I  reckon  them  two  cusses  took  along  the  most  ov  it. 
Enyhow  'tain't  yere,  'cept  maybe  a  few  coins  that  rolled 
under  the  table.  It  wasn't  Joe  Kirby  who  picked  up  the 
swag,  fer  I  was  a  watchin'  him,  an'  he  never  onct  let 
go  ov  his  gun.  Thet  damn  sneak  Carver  must  a  did  it, 
an'  then  the  two  ov  'em  just  sorter  nat'rally  faded  away 
through  that  door  thar." 

McAfee  swore  through  his  black  beard,  the  full  truth 
swiftly  dawning  upon  him. 

"Hell !"  he  exploded.  "So  that's  the  way  of  it.  Then 
them  two  wus  in  cahoots  f  rum  the  beginnin'.  That's  what 
I  told  the  Jedge  last  night,  but  he  said  he  didn't  give 
a  whoop ;  thet  he  knew  more  poker  than  both  ov  'em  put 
tergether.  I  tell  yer  them  fellers  stole  that  money,  an' 
they  killed  Beaucaire  —  " 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  I  broke  in,  my  rnind  cleared  of  its 
first  passion,  and  realizing  the  necessity  of  control.  "Let's 
keep  cool,  and  go  slow.  .While  I  believe  McAfee  is  right, 
we  are  not  going  to  bring  the  Judge  back  to  life  by  turn 
ing  into  a  mob.  There  is  no  proof  of  cheating,  and  Kirby 
has  the  law  behind  him.  Let  me  talk  to  the  captain  about 
what  had  best  be  done." 

"Who,  Thockmorton?" 

"Yes ;  he'll  know  the  better  action  for  us  to  take.  He's 
level-headed,  and  an  old  friend  of  Beaucaire's." 

"I'm  fer  swingin'  that  damn  gambler  up,  without  askin' 
nobody,"  shouted  a  fellow  fiercely.  "He's  bin  raisin'  hell 
f  rum  one  end  o'  this  river  ter  the  other  fer  ten  years.  A 
rope  is  whut  he  needs." 


KIRBY  SHOWS  PUS  HAND  43 

"What  good  would  that  do  in  this  case?"  I  questioned 
before  anyone  else  could  chime  in,  "either  to  the  dead 
man,  or  his  family  ?  That's  what  I  am  thinking  about,  men. 
Suppose  you  strung  him  up,  that  money,  the  plantation, 
and  those,  slaves  would  still  belong  to  him,  or  his  heirs. 
I'm  for  getting  all  these  back,  if  there  is  any  way  of 
accomplishing  it.  See  here,  men,"  I  pleaded  earnestly, 
"this  affair  doesn't  necessarily  end  here  on  board  the 
Warrior,  and  if  you  were  to  kill  Kirby  it  wouldn't  benefit 
matters  any." 

"It  would  get  rid  ov  a  skunk." 

"Yes,  but  he  is  only  one  of  a  hundred  between  here 
and  New  Orleans.  Look  at  the  other  side  a  minute. 
Beaucaire  bet  everything  he  possessed  —  everything,  land, 
niggers,  and  money.  Kirby  sneered  him  on  to  it,  and 
saw  that  he  had  the  kind  of  a  hand  that  would  do  the 
business  right.  When  the  Judge  died  he  didn't  own 
enough  to  pay  his  funeral  expenses.  Now  see  here;  I 
happen  to  know  that  he  left  two  young  daughters.  Just 
stop,  and  think  of  them.  We  saw  this  game  played,  and 
there  isn't  a  man  here  who  believes  it  was  played  on  the 
square  —  that  two  such  hands  were  ever  dealt,  or  drawn, 
in  poker.  W^e  can't  prove  that  Kirby  manipulated  things 
to  that  end ;  not  one  of  us  saw  how  he  worked  the  trick. 
There  is  no  chance  to  get  him  that  way.  Then  what  is  it 
we  ought  to  do?  Why  I  say,  make  the  thief  disgorge  — 
and  hanging  won't  do  the  business." 

"Well  then,  what  will?" 

"I  confess  I  do  not  yet  know.  I  want  to  talk  with 
Thockmorton  first.  He  may  know  something." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  suspicious  voice, 


44 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Who  the  hell  are  you?  How  do  we  know  you  ain't 
in  on  this  yerself  ?" 

"Listen,  men/'  and  I  fronted  them,  looking  straight 
into  their  eyes.  "You  have  a  right  to  ask  that  question, 
and  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am.  I  am  not  here  in  uniform, 
but  I  am  an  officer  of  the  United  States  Army.  Captain 
Thockmorton  will  vouch  for  that.  I  pledge  you  my  word 
that  this  affair  does  not  end  here.  I  never  met  any  of 
these  men  until  I  came  on  board  the  boat  at  Fort  Arm 
strong,  but  I  have  letters  with  me  for  Governor  Clark 
of  Missouri,  and  Governor  Reynolds  of  Illinois.  Either 
man  will  accept  my  statement  regarding  this  matter,  and 
I  promise  you  that  either  Kirby  and  Carver  will  return 
the  papers  and  money  before  we  reach  St.  Louis,  or  I'll 
swear  out  a  warrant  for  their  arrest.  If  you  boys  will 
stay  with  me  we'll  scare  it  out  of  them  for  the  sake  of 
those  girls.  What  do  you  say?" 

No  one  spoke  immediately,  although  there  was  a  mut 
tering  of  voices,  sounding  antagonistic,  and  sprinkled 
with  oaths.  It  was,  indeed,  a  poor  time  and  place  in 
which  to  appeal  to  the  law,  nor  were  these  men  accus 
tomed  to  the  pleadings  of  mercy.  I  glanced  across  Beau- 
caire's  extended  body,  and  caught  the  eyes  of  McAfee. 
The  man  lifted  his  hand. 

"The  leftenant  has  got  this  thing  sized  up  about 
proper,"  he  said  gruffly.  "He's  an  army  officer  all  right, 
fer  I  saw  him  back  thar  on  the  island,  when  we  wus  tied 
up  at  the  dock.  Now  look  yere,  boys,  I'm  fer  hangin' 
both  ov  them  cusses  just  as  much  as  eny  ov  the  rest  ov 
yer  —  a  bit  more,  I  reckon,  fer  they  stripped  me  ov  my 
pile  along  with  Eeaucaire,  only  I  was  easier  ter  strip  — 


KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND  45 

but,  as  the  lef tenant  says,  that  ain't  the  p'int  now.  What 
we  want  ter  do  is  get  back  them  bills  o'  sale,  so  them 
two  young  women  won't  be  left  with  nuthin'  ter  live  on. 
Let's  make  the  fellers  cough  up  furst,  an'  then,  if  we 
think  best,  we  kin  hang  'em  afterwards.  It's  my  vote  we 
let  the  lef  tenant  tackle  the  job  —  what  do  yer  say?"  i 

The  rise  and  fall  of  voices,  although  punctuated  by 
oaths,  and  indistinct  in  expression,  seemed  generally  to 
signify  assent.  The  faces  of  the  men,  as  they  pushed  and 
crowded  about  us,  remained  angry  and  resentful.  Clearly 
enough  prompt  action  alone  would  carry  the  day. 

"Very  well  then,  boys,"  I  broke  in  sharply.  "You  agree 
to  leave  this  settlement  with  me.  Then  I'll  go  at  it.  Two 
or  three  of  you  pick  up  the  body,  and  carry  it  to  Beau- 
caire's  stateroom  —  forward  there.  The  rest  of  you  bet 
ter  straighten  up  the  cabin,  while  I  go  up  and  talk  with 
Thockmorton  a  moment.  After  that  I  may  want  a  few 
of  you  to  go  along  when  I  hunt  up  Kirby.  If  he  proves 
ugly  we'll  know  how  to  handle  him.  McAfee!" 

"I'm  over  here." 

"I  was  just  going  to  say  that  you  better  stay  here,  and 
keep  the  fellows  all  quiet  in  the  cabin.  We  don't  want 
our  plan  to  leak  out,  and  it  will  be  best  to  let  Kirby  and 
Carver  think  that  everything  is  all  right;  that  nothing  is 
going  to  be  done." 

I  waited  while  several  of  them  gently  picked  up  the 
body,  and  bore  it  forward  into  the  shadows.  Others 
busied  themselves  in  straightening  the  overturned  fur 
niture,  and  gathered  into  a  small  pile  those  few  scattered 
coins  which  had  fallen  to  the  deck,  and  been  overlooked 
by  the  two  gamblers  in  their  eagerness  to  escape.  No  one 


46  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

attempted  to  appropriate  any  of  these.  McAfee  appar 
ently  knew  most  of  the  fellows  intimately,  calling  them 
by  name,  and  seemed  to  be  recognized  as  a  leader  among 
them.  This  fact  was  encouraging,  as  to  all  appearance 
they  were  a  rough  set,  unaccustomed  to  law  of  any  kind, 
and  to  be  controlled  only  by  physical  strength,  and  some 
one  of  their  own  sort.  In  spite  of  my  position  and  rank, 
I  was  far  too  young  in  appearance  to  exercise  much  weight 
of  authority  over  such  border  men,  but  fortunately  I  pos 
sessed  sufficient  good  sense  to  rely  now  in  this  emergency 
upon  the  black-bearded  McAfee,  who  served  well.  His 
voice,  strongly  resembling  a  foghorn,  arose  in  threat 
and  expostulation  unceasingly,  and  the  miners,  who  evi 
dently  knew  him  well,  and  perhaps  had  previously  tested 
the  weight  of  his  fist,  were  lamb-like  and  obedient  to  his 
control. 

"They'll  be  quiet  enough  fer  a  while,  leftenant,"  he 
managed  to  whisper  hoarsely  to  me.  "But  they  is  jest 
boys  growed  up,  an'  if  eny  one  o*  them  should  really  take 
a  notion  ter  raise  hell,  all  the  cussin'  I  might  do  wouldn't 
make  no  diffrance.  Whatever  yer  aim  at,  better  be  done 
right  off,  while  I  kin  sorter  keep  'em  busy  down  yere ;  onct 
they  git  loose  on  the  deck  the  devil  himself  couldn't  stop 
'em  frum  startin'  a  row." 

This  advice  was  so  good  that  I  slipped  instantly  away, 
silently  gained  the  door,  and,  unobserved,  emerged  on  to 
the  deserted  deck  without.  The  sudden  change  in 
environment  sobered  me,  and  caused  me  to  pause  and 
seriously  consider  the  importance  of  my  mission. 
Through  the  thin  walls  of  the  cabin  the  murmuring  voices 
of  those  within  became  indistinct,  except  as  an  occasional 


KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND 47 

loudly  spoken  oath,  or  call,  might  be  distinguished.  The 
struggling  Warrior  was  close  within  the  looming  shadows 
of  the  western  shore,  and  seemed  to  be  moving  downward 
more  swiftly  with  the  current,  as  though  the  controlling 
mind  in  the  darkened  wheelhouse  felt  confident  of  clear 
water  ahead.  The  decks  throbbed  to  the  increased  pulsa 
tion  of  the  engine,  and  I  could  plainly  hear  the  continuous 
splash  of  the  great  stern  wheel  as  it  flung  spray  high  into 
the  air. 

I  paused  a  moment,  hand  gripping  the  rail,  and  eyes 
seeking  vainly  to  peer  across  the  wide  expanse  of  river, 
really  fronting  the  situation  for  the  first  time,  and  endeav 
oring  to  think  out  calmly  some  definite  course  of  action. 
Thus  far,  spurred  only  by  necessity,  and  a  sense  of 
obligation,  I  had  merely  been  blindly  grasping  at  the  first 
suggestion  which  had  occurred  to  mind.  The  emergency 
had  demanded  action,  rather  than  reflection.  But  now, 
on  cooler  consideration,  and  alone,  the  result  I  sought 
did  not  appear  so  apparent,  nor  so  easily  attained.  Hith 
erto,  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  occasioned  by  Beau- 
caire's  tragic  death,  my  mind  had  grasped  but  one  idea 
clearly — if  I  permitted  Kirby  to  be  mobbed  and  killed 
by  those  enraged  men,  his  death  would  benefit  no  one; 
would  remedy  no  wrong.  That  mad  mob  spirit  must  be 
fought  down,  conquered.  Yet  now,  when  I  had  actually 
accomplished  this,  what  must  be  my  next  step?  Nothing 
less  potent  than  either  fear,  or  force,  would  ever  make 
Kirby  disgorge.  Quite  evidently  the  gambler  had  delib 
erately  set  out  to  ruin  the  planter,  to  rob  him  of  every 
dollar.  Even  at  the  last  moment  he  had  coldly  insisted  on 
receiving  a  bill  of  sale  so  worded  as  to  leave  no  possible 


48  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

loophole.  He  demanded  all.  The  death  of  the  Judge,  of 
course,  had  not  been  contemplated,  but  this  in  no  way 
changed  the  result.  That  was  an  accident,  yet,  I  imag 
ined,  might  not  be  altogether  unwelcome,  and  I  could  not 
rid  my  memory  of  that  shining  weapon  in  Kirby's  hand, 
or  the  thought  that  he  would  have  used  it  had  the  need 
arose.  Would  he  not  then  fight  just  as  fiercely  to  keep,  as 
he  had,  to  gain  ?  Indeed,  I  had  but  one  fact  upon  which 
I  might  hope  to  base  action — every  watcher  believed 
those  cards  had  been  stacked,  and  that  Beaucaire  was 
robbed  by  means  of  a  trick.  Yet,  could  this  be  proven? 
Would  any  one  of  those  men  actually  swear  that  he  had 
seen  a  suspicious  move?  If  not,  then  what  was  there  left 
me  except  a  mere  bluff  ?  Absolutely  nothing. 

Gambling  was  a  recognized  institution,  with  which 
even  the  law  did  not  interfere.  Of  course  there  were 
statutes  in  both  Missouri  and  Illinois,  but  no  enforce 
ment.  Indeed  the  gambling  fraternity  was  so  firmly 
intrenched,  through  wealth  and  influence,  that  no  steamer 
captain  even,  autocratic  as  he  often  was,  would  dare 
encroach  on  their  prerogatives.  Interested  as  Thockmor- 
ton  would  be  in  serving  Beaucaire's  dependents,  and  as 
much  as  he  cordially  disliked  Kirby,  all  I  could  rely  upon 
from  him  in  this  emergency  would  be  a  certain  moral  sup 
port,  and  possibly  some  valuable  advice.  He  would  never 
dare  ally  himself  openly,  for  the  cost  of  such  action 
would  be  too  high.  On  the  other  hand,  from  my  knowl 
edge  of  Kirby 's  desperate  character,  and  previous  exploits, 
I  seriously  doubted  the  efficacy  of  threatening  him  with 
lynch  law.  He  would  be  far  more  liable  to  defy  a  mob 
than  yield  to  its  demands.  Yet  memory  of  those  two  help- 


KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND  49 

less  girls  —  more  particularly  that  one  over  whose  uncon 
sciousness  there  hung  the  possibility  of  slavery  —  urged 
me  strongly  to  attempt  even  the  apparently  impossible. 
I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  fight  the  man  personally  if,  in  no 
other  way,  I  could  attain  my  end;  at  least  I  would  face 
him  with  every  power  and  authority  I  could  bring  to  bear. 

With  no  other  object  in  mind,  and  unarmed,  never  once 
dreaming  of  attack,  I  advanced  alone  along  the  dark,  nar 
row  strip  of  deck,  leading  toward  the  ladder  which 
mounted  to  the  wheelhouse.  There  were  no  lights,  and 
I  was  practically  compelled  to  feel  my  way  by  keeping  one 
hand  upon  the  rail.  The  steamer  was  sweeping  around 
a  great  bend,  and  a  leadsman  forward  was  calling  the 
depth  of  water,  his  monotonous  voice  chanting  out  strange 
river  terms  of  guidance.  I  had  reached  the  foot  of  the 
ladder,  my  fingers  blindly  seeking  the  iron  rungs  in  the 
gloom,  when  a  figure,  vague,  indistinct,  suddenly  emerged 
from  some  denser  shadow  and  confronted  me.  Indeed 
ihe  earliest  realization  I  had  of  any  other  presence  was  a 
oharp  pressure  against  my  breast,  and  a  low  voice  breath 
ing  a  menacing  threat  in  my  ear. 

"I  advise  you  not  to  move,  you  young  fool.  This  is 
a  cocked  pistol  tickling  your  ribs.  Where  were  you 
going?" 

The  black  night  veiled  his  face,  but  language  and  voice, 
in  spite  of  its  low  grumble,  told  me  the  speaker  was 
Kirby.  The  very  coldness  of  his  tone  served  to  send  a 
chill  through  me. 

"To  have  a  word  with  Thockmorton,"  I  answered, 
angered  at  my  own  fear,  and  rendered  reckless  by  that 
burst  of  passion.  "What  do  you  mean  by  your  threat? 


50  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

Haven't  you  robbed  enough  men  already  with  cards  with 
out  resorting  to  a  gun?" 

"This  is  no  robbery,"  and  I  knew  by  the  sharpness  of 
his  reply  my  words  had  stung,  "and  it  might  be  well  for 
you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head.  I  overheard  what 
you  said  to  those  men  in  the  cabin.  So  you  are  going  to 
take  care  of  me,  are  you?"  There  was  a  touch  of  steel 
in  the  low  voice.  "Now  listen,  you  brainless  meddler. 
Joe  Kirby  knows  exactly  what  he  is  doing  when  he  plays 
any  game.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  Beaucaire's  death, 
but  those  stakes  are  mine.  I  hold  them,  and  I  will  kill  any 
man  who  dares  to  interfere  with  me." 

"You  mean  you  refuse  to  return  any  of  this  property?" 

"Every  cent,  every  nigger,  every  acre  —  that's  my  busi 
ness.  Beaucaire  was  no  child ;  he  knew  what  he  was  bet 
ting,  and  he  lost." 

"But,"  I  insisted  almost  hopelessly,  "perhaps  you  do 
not  wholly  understand  this  matter  —  the  entire  situation. 
Judge  Beaucaire  risked  every  penny  he  possessed  in  the 
world." 

"I  suppose  he  did,  but  he  expected  to  gain  it  all  back 
again,  with  as  much  more  of  mine." 

"That  may  be  true,  Kirby.  I  am  not  defending  his 
action,  but  surely  this  is  no  reason,  now  that  he  is  dead, 
why  you  should  not  show  some  degree  of  mercy  to  others 
totally  innocent  of  any  wrong.  The  man  left  two  daugh 
ters,  both  young  girls,  who  will  now  be  homeless  and 
penniless." 

He  laughed,  and  the  sound  of  that  laugh  was  more 
cruel  than  the  accompanying  words. 

"Two   daughters!"   he   sneered.      "According  to   my 


KIRBY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND  51 

information  that  strains  the  relationship  a  trifle,  friend 
Knox  —  at  least  the  late  Judge  never  took  the  trouble  to 
acknowledge  the  fact.  Permit  me  to  correct  your  state 
ment.  I  happen  to  know  more  about  Beaucaire's  private 
affairs  than  you  do.  He  leaves  one  daughter  only.  I 
have  never  met  the  young  lady,  but  I  understand  from 
excellent  authority  that  she  possesses  independent  means 
through  the  death  some  years  ago  of  her  mother.  I  shall 
therefore  not  worry  about  her  loss  —  and,  indeed,  she  need 
meet  with  none,  for  if  she  only  prove  equal  to  all  I  have 
heard  I  may  yet  be  induced  to  make  her  a  proposition." 

"A  proposition  ?" 

"To  remain  on  the  plantation  as  its  mistress  —  plainly 
an  offer  of  marriage,  if  you  please.  Not  such  a  bad  idea, 
is  it?" 

I  stood  speechless,  held  motionless  only  by  the  pressing 
muzzle  of  his  pistol,  the  cold-blooded  villainy  of  the  man 
striking  me  dumb.  This  then  had  probably  been  his  real 
purpose  from  the  start.  He  had  followed  Beaucaire 
deliberately  with  this  final  end  in  view  —  of  ruining  him, 
and  thus  compelling  the  daughter  to  yield  herself.  He 
had  egged  the  man  on,  playing  on  the  weakness  of  his 
nature,  baiting  him  to  finally  risk  all  on  a  game  of  chance, 
the  real  stake  not  the  money  on  the  table,  but  the  future  of 
this  young  girl. 

"You  —  you  have  never  seen  her?" 

"No,  but  I  have  met  those  who  have.  She  is  reported 
to  be  beautiful,  and,  better  still,  worth  fifty  thousand 
dollars." 

"And  you  actually  mean  that  you  propose  now  to  force 
Judge  Beaucaire's  daughter  to  marry  you  ?" 


52  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Well  hardly  that,  although  I  shall  use  whatever  means 
I  possess.  I  intend  to  win  her  if  I  can,  fair  means,  or 
foul." 

I  drew  a  deep  breath,  comprehending  now  the  full 
iniquity  of  his  plot,  and  bracing  myself  to  fight  it. 

"And  what  about  the  other  girl,  Kirby?  for  there  is 
another  girl/' 

"Yes,"  rather  indifferently,  "there  is  another." 

"Of  course  you  know  who  she  is?" 

"Certainly  —  a  nigger,  a  white  nigger;  the  supposed 
illegitimate  daughter  of  Adelbert  Beaucaire,  and  a  slave 
woman.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  fret  about  her, 
is  there?  She  is  my  property  already  by  law."  He 
laughed  again,  the  same  ugly  sneering  laugh  of  triumph. 
"That  was  why  I  was  so  particular  about  the  wording  of 
that  bill  of  sale — I  would  rather  have  her  than  the  whole 
bunch  of  field  hands." 

"You  believe  then  the  girl  has  never  been  freed  —  either 
she,  or  her  mother?" 

"Believe  ?  I  know.  I  tell  you  I  never  play  any  game 
with  my  eyes  shut." 

"And  you  actually  intend  to  —  to  hold  her  as  a  slave?" 

"Well,  I'll  look  her  over  first  before  I  decide— she 
would  be  worth  a  pot  full  of  money  down  the  river." 


CHAPTER  VI 

INTO   THE    BLACK    WATER 

'T^HE  contemptuous,  utterly  indifferent  manner  in 
•*•  which  he  voiced  his  villainous  purpose,  would  have 
crazed  any  man.  Perhaps  he  intended  that  it  should, 
although  it  was  my  belief  that  he  merely  expressed  him 
self  naturally,  and  with  no  thought  of  consequences.  The 
man  was  so  steeped  in  crime  as  to  be  ignorant  of  all 
sense  of  honor,  all  conception  of  true  manhood.  But 
to  me  this  utterance  was  the  last  straw,  breaking  down 
every  restraint,  and  leaving  me  hot,  and  furious  with 
anger.  I  forgot  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  pressed 
against  my  side,  and  the  menacing  threat  in 
Kirby's  low  voice.  The  face  of  the  man  was  indis 
tinct,  a  mere  outline,  but  the  swift  impulse  to  strike  at  it 
was  irresistible,  and  I  let  him  have  the  blow  —  a  straight- 
arm  jab  to  the  jaw.  My  clinched  knuckles  crunched 
against  the  flesh,  and  he  reeled  back,  kept  from  falling 
only  by  the  support  of  the  deckhouse.  There  was  no 
report  of  a  weapon,  no  outcry,  yet,  before  I  could  strike 
again,  I  was  suddenly  gripped  from  behind  by  a  pair  of 
arms,  which  closed  about  my  throat  like  a  vise,  throttling 
me  instantly  into  silent  helplessness.  I  struggled  madly 
to  break  free,  straining  with  all  the  art  of  a  wrestler, 
exerting  every  ounce  of  strength,  but  the  grasp  which  held 
me  was  unyielding,  robbing  me  of  breath,  and  defeating 
every  effort  to  call  for  help.  Kirby,  dazed  yet  by  my  sud- 

53 


54  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

den  blow,  and  eager  to  take  a  hand  in  the  affray,  struck 
me  a  cowardly  blow  in  the  face,  and  swung  his  undis 
charged  pistol  to  a  level  with  my  eyes. 

"Damn  you!"  he  ejaculated,  and  for  the  first  time 
his  voice  really  exhibited  temper.  "I'd  kill  you  with 
this,  but  for  the  noise.  No,  by  God !  there  is  a  safer  way 
than  that  to  settle  with  you.  Have  you  got  the  skunk, 
Carver?" 

"You  can  bet  I  have,  Joe.  I  kin  choke  the  life  out  o* 
him  — shall  I?" 

"No;  let  up  a  bit — just  enough  so  he  can  answer  me 
first.  I  want  to  find  out  what  all  this  means.  Now  look 
here,  Knox,  you're  an  army  officer,  are  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  managed  to  gasp,  sobbing  in  an  effort  to  catch 
breath,  as  the  iron  fingers  at  my  throat  relaxed  slightly. 

"Well  then,  what  is  all  this  to  you?  Why  are  you 
butting  in  on  my  game?  Was  Beaucaire  a  friend  of 
yours  ?" 

"I  can  hardly  claim  that,"  I  admitted.  "We  never  met 
until  I  came  aboard  this  steamer.  All  I  am  interested  in 
is  justice  to  others." 

"To  others  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  those  girls  —  you 
know  them  then?" 

"I  have  never  even  seen  them,"  I  said,  now  speaking 
more  easily.  "Thockmorton  chanced  to  tell  me  about 
them  yesterday,  and  their  condition  appealed  to  me,  just 
as  it  naturally  would  to  any  true  man.  I  thought  prob 
ably  you  did  not  understand  the  situation,  and  hoped  that 
if  I  told  you  the  truth  you  might  respond." 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you  ?  You  must  have  figured  me  as 
being  pretty  soft.  Well,  what  do  you  think  now?" 


INTO  THE  BLACK  WATER  55 

His  tone  so  completely  ended  my  hope  of  compromise 
that  I  replied  hotly,  "That  you  are  a  dirty,  piratical  cur. 
I  may  have  doubted  your  purpose  at  first,  for  I  am  not 
used  to  your  kind,  but  this  is  so  no  longer.  You  delib 
erately  ruined  and  robbed  Beaucaire,  in  order  to  gain 
possession  of  these  two  girls.  You  have  admitted  as 
much." 

He  laughed,  in  no  way  angered  by  my  plain  speech; 
indeed  it  almost  seemed  as  though  he  felt  complimented. 

"Hardly  admit,  my  friend,  for  that  is  not  my  style.  I 
let  others  do  the  guessing.  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Carver  ?  It  seems  we  rank  rather  high  in  the  estimation 
of  the  young  man."  His  eyes  again  centered  on  me. 
"And  you  are  really  not  acquainted  with  either  of  the 
ladies?" 

"No." 

"I  see;  a  self-appointed  squire  of  dames;  actuated 
merely  by  a  romantic  desire  to  serve  beauty  in  distress. 
Extremely  interesting,  my  dear  boy.  But,  see  here, 
Knox,"  and  his  tone  changed  to  seriousness.  "Let  the 
romance  go,  and  talk  sense  a  minute.  You  are  not  going 
to  get  very  far  fighting  me  alone.  You  haven't  even  got 
the  law  with  you.  Even  if  I  cheated  Beaucaire,  which 
I  do  not  for  a  moment  admit,  there  is  no  proof.  The 
money  is  mine,  and  so  is  the  land,  and  the  niggers.  You 
can  be  ugly,  of  course,  but  you  cannot  overturn  the  facts. 
Now  I  don't  care  a  whoop  in  hell  for  that  bunch  of  miners 
back  there  in  the  cabin.  If  left  alone  they  will  forget  all 
about  this  affair  in  an  hour.  It's  nothing  to  them,  and 
they  are  no  angels  if  it  was.  But,  in  a  way,  it  is  different 
with  you.  I  understand  that,  and  also  that  you  are  in  a 


56  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

position  where  you  might  make  me  some  trouble.  People 
would  listen  to  what  you  had  to  say  —  and  some  of  them 
might  believe  you.  Now  you  acknowledge  that  what  has 
occurred  is  personally  nothing  to  you ;  Beaucaire  was  no 
special  friend,  and  you  don't  even  know  the  two  girls  — 
all  right  then,  drop  the  whole  matter.  I  hold  no  grudge 
on  account  of  your  striking  me,  and  am  even  willing  to 
share  up  with  you  to  avoid  trouble." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"Then,  of  course,  we  shall  be  compelled  to  shut  your 
mouth  for  you.  Self  preservation  is  the  first  law." 

"Which  simply  means  that  you  intend  to  go  on,  and 
yield  nothing?" 

"That  is  about  right.  We'll  hold  tight  to  what  we've 
got  —  hey,  Carver?" 

"That's  allers  bin  my  way  o'  doin'  business,"  chimed  in 
the  other  brutally.  "An'  we've  sure  got  you,  mister  sol 
dier  man,  where  we  kin  handle  yer,  I  reckon." 

I  looked  about  at  them  both,  scarcely  able  to  distin 
guish  clearly  even  their  outlines  in  the  dense  gloom.  The 
seriousness  of  my  situation,  coupled  with  my  helplessness, 
and  inability  to  achieve  the  object  proposed,  was  very 
evident.  These  men  were  reckless,  and  determined, 
unable  to  even  grasp  my  point  of  view.  It  might,  under 
these  circumstances,  have  been  the  part  of  wisdom  for 
me  to  have  sought  some  means  of  compromise,  but  I 
was  young  and  hot,  fiery  blood  swept  through  rny  veins. 
The  words  of  Kirby  stung  me  with  their  breath  of 
insult  —  his  sneering,  insolent  offer  to  pay  me  to  remain 
still. 

"You  must  rank  me  as  one  of  your  own  kind,"  I  burst 


INTO  THE  BLACK  WATER 57 

forth.  "Now  you  listen  to  a  plain  word  from  me.  If 
that  was  intended  as  an  offer,  I  refuse  it.  When  I  first 
left  the  cabin,  and  came  here  on  deck,  I  honestly  believed 
I  could  talk  with  you,  Kirby,  appeal  to  your  better  nature, 
and  gain  some  consideration  for  those  two  girls.  Now  I 
know  better.  From  the  start  this  has  been  the  working 
out  of  a  deliberately  planned  plot.  You,  and  your  con 
federate,  have  coolly  robbed  Beaucaire,  and  propose  to 
get  away  with  the  spoils.  Perhaps  you  will,  but  that  end 
will  not  be  accomplished  through  any  assistance  of  mine. 
At  first  I  only  felt  a  slight  interest  in  the  affair,  but  from 
now  on  I  am  going  to  fight  you  fellows  with  every  weapon 
I  possess." 

Kirby  chuckled,  apparently  greatly  amused. 

"Quite  glad,  I  am  sure,  for  the  declaration  of  war. 
Fighting  has  always  agreed  with  me.  Might  I  ask  the 
nature  of  those  weapons?" 

"That  remains  for  you  to  discover,"  I  ejaculated 
sharply,  exasperated  by  his  evident  contempt.  "Carver, 
take  your  dirty  hands  off  of  me." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  of  their  threat,  the  ready  pistol 
pressing  against  my  ribs,  the  grip  of  Carver's  fingers  at 
my  throat,  I  did  not  anticipate  any  actual  assault.  That 
either  would  really  dare  injure  me  seemed  preposterous. 
Indeed  my  impression  was,  that  Kirby  felt  such  indiffer 
ence  toward  my  attempt  to  block  his  plan,  that  he  would 
permit  me  to  pass  without  opposition  —  certainly  with 
out  the  slightest  resort  to  violence.  The  action  of  the  two 
was  so  swift,  so  concerted,  as  though  to  some  secret  signal, 
that,  almost  before  I  realized  their  purpose,  they  held  me 
helplessly  struggling,  and  had  forced  me  back  against  the 


58  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

low  rail.  Here  I  endeavored  to  break  away,  to  shout  an 
alarm,  but  was  already  too  late.  Carver's  hands  closed 
remorselessly  on  my  throat,  and,  when  I  managed  to 
strike  out  madly  with  one  free  fist,  the  butt  of  Kirby's 
pistol  descended  on  my  head,  so  lacerating  my  scalp  the 
dripping  blood  blinded  my  eyes.  The  blow  partially 
stunned  me,  and  I  half  fell,  clutching  at  the  rail,  yet  dimly 
conscious  that  the  two  straining  men  were  uplifting  my 
useless  body,  Carver  swearing  viciously  as  he  helped  to 
thrust  me  outward  over  the  wooden  bar.  The  next  instant 
I  fell,  the  sneering  cackle  of  Kirby's  laugh  of  triumph 
echoing  in  my  ears  until  drowned  in  the  splash  as  I  struck 
the  black  water  below. 

I  came  back  to  the  surface  dazed  and  weakened,  yet 
sufficiently  conscious  to  make  an  intelligent  struggle  for 
life.  The  over-hang  of  the  rapidly  passing  boat  still  con 
cealed  me  from  the  observation  of  those  above  on  the 
deck,  and  the  advantage  of  permitting  them  to  believe  that 
the  blow  on  my  head  had  resulted  in  drowning,  together 
with  the  knowledge  that  I  must  swiftly  get  beyond  the 
stroke  of  that  deadly  wheel,  flashed  instantly  through  my 
brain.  It  was  like  a  tonic,  reviving  every  energy.  Wait 
ing  only  to  inhale  one  deep  breath  of  air,  I  plunged  back 
once  more  into  the  depths,  and  swam  strongly  under 
water.  The  effort  proved  successful,  for  when  I  again 
ventured  to  emerge,  gasping  and  exhausted,  the  little 
Warrior  had  swept  past,  and  become  merely  a  shapeless 
outline,  barely  visible  above  the  surface  af  the  river. 
Even  if  the  two  men  had  rushed  to  the  stern,  seeking  thus 
to  ascertain  what  had  happened  to  their  victim,  they 
could  not  have  detected  my  presence  in  that  darkness, 


INTO  THE  BLACK  WATER 59 

or  determined  whether  or  not  I  had  met  death  in  the 
depths,  or  been  crushed  lifeless  by  those  revolving 
paddles. 

Slowly  treading  water,  my  lips  held  barely  above  the 
surface,  I  drew  in  deep  draughts  of  cool  night  air,  my 
mind  becoming  more  active  as  hope  returned.  The  blow 
I  had  received  was  a  savage  one,  and  pained  dully,  but 
the  cold  water  in  which  I  had  been  immersed  had  caused 
the  bleeding  to  cease,  and  likewise  revived  all  my  facul 
ties.  The  water  was  so  icy,  still  fed  by  the  winter  snow 
of  the  north,  as  to  make  me  conscious  of  chill,  and  awaken 
within  me  a  fear  of  cramps.  The  steamer  melted  swiftly 
away  into  nothingness,  and  the  last  indication  of  its  pres 
ence  in  the  distance  was  the  faint  gleam  of  a  stern  light 
piercing  the  night  shadows.  The  very  fact  that  no  effort 
was  made  to  stop  was  sufficient  proof  that  Thockmorton 
in  the  wheelhouse  remained  unconscious  of  what  had 
occurred  on  the  deck  below.  My  fate  might  never  be 
discovered,  or  suspected.  I  was  alone,  submerged  in  the 
great  river,  the  stars  overhead  alone  piercing  the  night 
shadows.  They  seemed  cold,  and  far  away,  their  dull 
glow  barely  sufficient  to  reveal  the  dim  outline  of  the 
western  shore ;  and  even  this  would  have  remained  invisible 
except  for  the  trees  lining  the  higher  bank  beyond,  and 
silhouetted  against  the  slightly  lighter  background  of  sky. 
In  the  other  direction  all  was  apparently  water,  a  turbu 
lent  waste,  and  one  glance  deciding  my  action,  I  quickly 
struck  out,  partially  breasting  the  downward  sweep  of  the 
current,  in  a  desperate  struggle  to  attain  land. 

I  discovered  this  to  be  no  easy  task,  as  the  swirl  of 
the  river  bore  strongly  toward  the  opposite  shore,  yet  I 


60  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

had  always  been  a  powerful  swimmer,  and  although  now 
seriously  hampered  by  boots,  and  heavy,  sodden  cloth 
ing,  succeeded  in  making  steady  progress.  A  log  swept 
by  me,  white  bursts  of  spray  illuminating  its  sides,  and  I 
grappled  it  gratefully,  my  fingers  finding  grip  on  the 
sodden  bark.  Using  this  for  partial  support,  and  ceas 
ing  to  battle  so  desperately  against  the  down-sweep  of  the 
current,  I  managed  finally  to  work  my  way  into  an  eddy, 
struggling  onward  until  my  feet  at  last  touched  bottom 
at  the  end  of  a  low,  out-cropping  point  of  sand.  This 
proved  to  be  a  mere  spit,  but  I  waded  ashore,  water 
streaming  from  my  clothing,  conscious  now  of  such  com 
plete  exhaustion  that  I  sank  instantly  outstretched  upon 
the  sand,  gasping  painfully  for  breath,  every  muscle  and 
nerve  throbbing. 

The  night  was  intensely  still,  black,  impenetrable.  It 
seemed  as  though  no  human  being  could  inhabit  that  deso 
late  region.  I  lifted  my  head  to  listen  for  the  slightest 
sound  of  life,  and  strained  my  eyes  to  detect  the  distant 
glimmer  of  a  light  in  any  direction.  Nothing  rewarded 
the  effort.  Yet  surely  along  here  on  this  long-settled  west 
bank  of  the  Mississippi  I  could  not  be  far  removed  from 
those  of  my  race,  for  I  knew  that  all  along  this  river 
shore  were  cultivated  plantations  and  little  frontier  towns 
irregularly  served  by  passing  steamboats.  We  had  not 
been  far  to  the  northward  of  St.  Louis  at  midnight,  and 
Thockmorton  confidently  expected  to  tie  up  the  Warrior 
at  the  wharf  before  that  city  early  the  next  morning.  So, 
surely,  somewhere  near  at  hand,  concealed  amid  the 
gloom,  would  be  discovered  the  habitations  of  men  — 
either  the  pretentious  mansion  of  some  prosperous 


INTO  THE  BLACK  WATER  61 

planter,  or  the  humble  huts  of  his  black  slaves.  Could  I 
attain  to  either  one  I  would  be  certain  of  welcome,  for 
hospitality  without  questioning  was  the  code  of  the  fron 
tier. 

The  night  air  increased  in  chilliness  as  the  hours 
approached  dawn,  and  I  shivered  in  my  wet  clothes, 
although  this  only  served  to  arouse  me  into  immediate 
action.  Realizing  more  than  ever  as  I  again  attempted 
to  move  my  weakness  and  exhaustion  from  struggle,  I 
succeeded  in  gaining  my  feet,  and  stumbled  forward 
along  the  narrow  spit  of  sand,  until  I  attained  a  bank  of 
firm  earth,  up  which  I  crept  painfully,  emerging  at  last 
upon  a  fairly  level  spot,  softly  carpeted  with  grass,  and 
surrounded  by  a  grove  of  forest  trees.  The  shadows  here 
were  dense,  but  my  feet  encountered  a  depression  in  the 
soil,  which  I  soon  identified  as  a  rather  well-defined  path 
leading  inland.  Assured  that  this  must  point  the  way 
to  some  door,  as  it  was  evidently  no  wild  animal  trail, 
I  felt  my  way  forward  cautiously,  eager  to  attain  shelter, 
and  the  comfort  of  a  fire. 

The  grove  was  of  limited  extent,  and,  as  I  emerged 
from  beneath  its  shadow,  I  came  suddenly  to  a  patch  of 
cultivated  land,  bisected  by  a  small  stream,  the  path  I 
was  following  leading  along  its  bank.  Holding  to  this 
for  guidance,  within  less  than  a  hundred  yards  I  came 
to  the  house  I  was  seeking,  a  small,  log  structure,  over 
shadowed  by  a  gigantic  oak,  and  standing  isolated  and 
alone.  It  appeared  dark  and  silent,  although  evidently 
inhabited,  as  an  axe  stood  leaning  against  the  jamb  of  the 
door,  while  a  variety  of  utensils  were  scattered  about. 
Believing  the  place  to  be  occupied  by  a  slave,  or  possibly 


62  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

some  white  squatter,  I  advanced  directly  to  the  door,  and 
called  loudly  to  whoever  might  be  within. 

There  was  no  response,  and,  believing  the  occupant 
asleep,  I  used  the  axe  handle,  rapping  sharply.  Still  no 
voice  answered,  although  I  felt  convinced  of  some  move 
ment  inside,  leading  me  to  believe  that  the  sleeper  had 
slipped  from  his  bed  and  was  approaching  the  door. 
Again  I  rapped,rthis  time  with  greater  impatience  over 
the  delay,  but  not  the  slightest  sound  rewarded  the  effort. 
Shivering  there  in  my  wet  clothes,  the  stubborn  obduracy 
of  the  fellow  awakened  my  anger. 

"Open  up,  there,"  I  called  commandingly,  "or  else  I'll 
take  this  axe  and  break  down  your  door." 

In  the  darkness  I  had  been  unobservant  of  a  narrow 
slide  in  the  upper  panel,  but  had  scarcely  uttered  these 
words  of  threat  when  the  flare  of  a  discharge  almost  in 
my  very  face  fairly  blinded  me,  and  I  fell  backward, 
aware  of  a  burning  sensation  in  one  shoulder.  The  next 
instant  I  lay  oustretched  on  the  ground,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  life  was  fast  ebbing  from  my  body.  Twice  I 
endeavored  vainly  to  rise,  but  at  the  second  attempt  my 
brain  reeled  dizzily  and  I  sank  back  unconscious. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PICKING  UP  THE   THREADS 

T  TURNED  my  head  slightly  on  the  hard  shuck  pil- 
low  and  gazed  curiously  about.  When  my  eyes  had 
first  opened  all  I  could  perceive  was  the  section  of  log 
wall  against  which  I  rested,  but  now,  after  painfully  turn 
ing  over,  the  entire  interior  of  the  single-room  cabin  was 
revealed.  It  was  humble  enough  in  all  its  appointments, 
the  walls  quite  bare,  the  few  chairs  fashioned  from  half- 
barrels,  a  packing  box  for  a  table,  and  the  narrow  bed 
on  which  I  lay  constructed  from  saplings  lashed  together, 
covered  with  a  coarse  ticking,  packed  with  straw.  The 
floor  was  of  hard,  dry  clay;  a  few  live  coals  remained, 
smoking  in  the  open  fireplace,  while  a  number  of  gar 
ments,  among  them  to  be  recognized  my  own  clothing, 
dangled  from  wooden  pegs  driven  into  the  chinks  of  the 
farther  wall.  I  surveyed  the  entire  circuit  of  the  room 
wonderingly,  a  vague  memory  of  what  had  lately  occurred 
returning  slowly  to  mind.  To  all  appearances  I  was 
there  alone,  although  close  beside  me  stood  a  low  stooj, 
supporting  a  tin  basin  partially  filled  with  water.  As  I 
moved  I  became  conscious  of  a  dull  pain  in  my  left  shoul 
der,  which  I  also  discovered  to  be  tightly  bandaged.  It 
was  late  in  the  day,  for  the  rays  of  the  sun  streamed  in 
through  the  single  window,  and  lay  a  pool  of  gold  along 
the  center  of  the  floor. 

I  presume  it  was  not  long,  yet  my  thoughts  were  so 

63 


64 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

busy  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  have  been  lying  there  undis 
turbed  for  some  time,  before  the  door  opened  quietly,  and 
I  became  aware  of  another  occupant  of  the  room.  Pay 
ing  no  attention  to  me  he  crossed  to  the  fireplace,  stirred 
the  few  smouldering  embers  into  flame,  placing  upon 
these  some  bits  of  dried  wood,  and  then  idly  watched 
as  they  caught  fire.  The  newcomer  was-  a  negro,  gray- 
haired  but  still  vigorous,  evidently  a  powerful  fellow 
judging  from  his  breadth  of  shoulder,  and  possessing  a 
face  denoting  considerable  intelligence.  Finally  he 
straightened  up  and  faced  me,  his  eyes  widening  with 
interest  as  he  caught  mine  fastened  upon  him,  his  thick 
lips  instantly  parting  in  a  good-natured  grin. 

"De  good  Lord  be  praised!"  he  ejaculated,  in  undis 
guised  delight.  "Is  yer  really  awake  agin,  honey?  De 
docthar  say  he  done  thought  ye'd  cum  round  by  terday 
sure,  sah.  Enyhow  Fs  almighty  glad  fer  ter  see  yer  wid 
dem  eyes  open  onct  mor' — yas,  sah,  I  sure  am/' 

"The  doctor?"  I  questioned  in  surprise,  my  voice  sound 
ing  strange  and  far  away.  "Have  I  been  here  long?" 

"Coin'  on  'bout  ten  days,  sah.  Yer  was  powerful  bad 
hurt  an'  out  o'  yer  head,  I  reckon." 

"What  was  it  that  happened?  Did  some  one  shoot 
me?" 

The  negro  scratched  his  head,  shuffling  his  bare  feet 
uneasily  on  the  dirt  floor. 

"Yas,  sah,  Mister  Knox,"  he  admitted  with  reluctance. 
"Fs  sure  powerful  sorry,  sah,  but  I  was  de  boy  whut 
plugged  yer.  Yer  see,  sah,  it  done  happened  dis-a-way," 
and  his  black  face  registered  genuine  distress.  "Thar's 
a  mean  gang  o'  white  folks  'round  yere  thet's  took  it 


PICKING  UP  THE  THREADS  65 

inter  their  heads  ter  lick  every  free  nigger,  an'  when  yer 
done  come  up  ter  my  door  in  de  middle  ob  de  night,  a 
cussin',  an'  a-threatenin'  fer  ter  break  in,  I  just  nat'larly 
didn't  wanter  be  licked,  an' — an'  so  I  blazed  away.  I's 
powerful  sorry  'bout  it  now,  sah." 

"No  doubt  it  was  more  my  fault  than  yours.  You  are 
a  free  negro,  then?" 

"Yas,  sah.  I  done  belong  onct  ter  Colonul  Silas  Carl- 
ton,  sah,  but  afore  he  died,  just  because  I  done  saved  his 
boy  frum  drownin'  in  de  ribber,  de  ol'  Colonul  he  set  me 
free,  an'  give  me  a  patch  o'  Ian'  ter  raise  corn  on." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Pete,  sah.  Free  Pete  is  whut  mostly  de  white  folks 
call  me."  He  laughed,  white  teeth  showing  and  the  whites 
of  his  eyes.  "Yer  see,  thar  am  a  powerful  lot  o'  Petes 
round  'bout  yere,  sah." 

I  drew  a  deep  breath,  conscious  of  weakness  as  I  en 
deavored  to  change  position. 

"All  right,  Pete;  now  I  want  to  understand  things 
clearly.  You  shot  me,  supposing  I  was  making  an  assault 
on  you.  Your  bullet  lodged  in  my  shoulder.  What  hap 
pened  then?" 

"Well,  after  a  while,  sah,  thar  wan't  no  mor'  noise,  an' 
I  reckoned  I'd  either  done  hit  yer  er  else  ye'd  run  away. 
An'  thar  ye  wus,  sah,  a  lyin'  on  yer  back  like  ye  wus 
ded.  Just  so  soon  as  I  saw  ye,  I  know'd  as  how  ye  never 
wus  no  nigger-hunter,  but  a  stranger  in  des  yere  parts. 
So  I  dragged  ye  inside  de  cabin,  an'  washed  up  yer  hurts. 
But  ye  never  got  no  bettah,  so  I  got  skeered,  an'  went 
hoofin'  it  down  fer  de  docthar  at  Beaucaire  Landin',  sah, 
an'  when  he  cum  back  along  wid  me  he  dug  the  bullet 


66  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

outer  yer  shoulder,  an'  left  som  truck  fer  me  ter  giv'  yer. 
He's  done  been  yere  three  times,  skh." 

"From  Beaucaire  Landing — is  that  a  town?" 
"A  sorter  a  town,  sah;  'bout  four  miles  down  ribber." 
The  mentioning  of  this  familiar  word  brought  back 
instantly  to  my  darkened  understanding  all  those  main 
events  leading  up  to  my  presence  in  this  neighborhood. 
Complete  memory  returned,  every  separate  incident 
sweeping  through  my  brain  —  Kirby,  Carver,  the  fateful 
game  of  cards  in  the  cabin  of  the  Warrior,  the  sudden 
death  of  the  Judge,  the  mob  anger  I  sought  to  curb,  the 
struggle  on  deck,  my  being  thrown  overboard,  and  the 
danger  threatening  the  two  innocent  daughters  of  Beau 
caire.  And  I  had  actually  been  tying  in  this  negro  hut, 
burning  up  with  fever,  helplessly  delirious,  for  ten  days. 
What  had  already  occurred  in  that  space  of  time?  What 
villainy  had  been  concocted  and  carried  out?  WTiat  more 
did  the  negro  know?  —  something  surely,  for  now  I 
remembered  he  had  addressed  me  by  name. 

"Now  see  here,  Pete,"  I  began  earnestly.  "How  did 
you  learn  what  my  name  was?" 

"De  docthar  he  foun'  dat  out,  sah.  I  reckon'  he  thought 
maybe  he  ought  ter  know ;  f earin'  as  how  ye  might  die. 
He  done  looked  through  yer  pockets,  sah,  an'  he  took  two 
papers  whut  he  foun'  dar  away  wid  him.  He  done  tol' 
me  as  how  yer  wus  an  offercer  in  de  army  —  a  lef tenant, 
er  sumthin' — an'  thet  dem  papers  ought  fer  ter  be  sint 
ter  de  Gov'ner  et  onct.  De  las'  time  he  wus  yere  he  tol* 
me  thet  he  wint  down  ter  Saint  Louee  hisself,  an'  done 
gif  bof  dem  papers  ter  Gov'ner  Clark.  So  yer  don't 
need  worry  none  'bout  dem  no  mor'." 


PICKING  UP  THE  THREADS 67 

I  sank  back  onto  the  hard  pillow,  greatly  relieved  by 
this  information.  The  burden  of  official  duty  had  been 
taken  from  me.  I  was  now  on  furlough,  and  free  to  act 
as  I  pleased.  I  suddenly  became  conscious  that  I  was 
hungry.  I  expressed  this  desire  for  food,  and  the  negro 
instantly  busied  himself  over  the  fire.  I  watched  his 
movements  with  interest,  although  my  thoughts  quickly 
drifted  to  other  matters. 

"Have  you  picked  up  any  news  lately  from  the  Beau- 
caire  plantation  ?"  I  asked,  at  last. 

He  twisted  his  head  about  at  sound  of  my  voice. 

"I  heerd  said  dey  done  brought  de  body  ob  de  oF  Jedge 
home,  sah  —  he  died  mighty  sudden  sumwhar  up  de  rib- 
ber.  Thet's  'bout  all  I  know." 

"When  was  this?" 

"  'Bout  a  week  maybe  mor'n  dat  ago.  De  Warrior 
brought  de  body  down,  sah." 

"The  Warrior?    Did  anyone  go  ashore  with  it?" 

"Pears  like  thar  wus  two  men  stopped  off  at  de  Landin'. 
I  disremember  de  names,  but  one  ob  'em  wus  an  oF  friend 
ob  de  Jedge's." 

I  turned  my  head  away  silently,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
The  two  men  were  in  all  probability  Kirby  and  his  satel 
lite,  Carver.  Evidently  they  intended  to  lose  no  time. 
The  accident,  the  period  of  my  unconsciousness,  had 
left  the  villains  ample  opportunity  in  which  to  carry 
out  the  details  of  their  devilish  plot.  The  silence  had 
convinced  them  of  my  death,  leaving  them  nothing  to 
fear,  no  opposition  to  guard  against.  Doubtless  the 
Beaucaire  property  was  already  legally  in  Kirby's  pos 
session,  and  any  possible  chance  I  might  have  once  had 


68  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  foil  him  in  his  nefarious  purpose  had  now  completely 
vanished. 

To  be  sure  I  had  reasoned  out  no  definite  means 
whereby  I  could  circumvent  his  theft,  except  to  take  legal 
advice,  confer  with  Governor  Clark,  and  warn  those 
threatened  girls  of  their  danger.  But  now  it  was  too 
late  even  to  do  this.  And  yet  it  might  not  be.  If  Kirby 
and  his  confederate  believed  that  I  was  dead,  were  con 
vinced  that  I  had  perished  beneath  the  waters  of  the 
river,  they  might  feel  safe  in  taking  time  to  strengthen 
their  position;  might  delay  final  action,  hoping  thus  to 
make  their  case  seem  more  plausible.  If  Kirby  was  really 
serious  in  his  intention  of  marrying  Beaucaire's  daughter 
he  would  naturally  hesitate  immediately  to  acknowledge 
winning  the  property  at  cards,  and  thus  indirectly  being 
the  cause  of  her  father's  death.  He  would  be  quite  likely 
to  keep  this  hidden  from  the  girl  for  a  while,  until  he 
tried  his  luck  at  love.  If  love  failed,  then  the  disclosure 
might  be  made  to  drive  the  young  woman  to  him ;  a  threat 
to  render  her  complacent.  The  negro  evidently  knew 
very  little  as  to  what  had  occurred,  merely  the  floating 
gossip  of  the  slave  quarters,  and  some  few  things  the 
doctor  had  mentioned.  But  there  was  a  man  living  at 
the  Landing  who  would  be  informed  as  to  all  the  facts. 
"I  believe  the  Judge  left  two  daughters,  did  he  not?" 
"Yas,  sah  —  mighty  pretty  gals  dey  am  too." 
"And  they  still  remain  in  possession  of  the  house?" 
"I  reckon  dey  do,  sah.  Pears  like  the  dochtar  sed 
sumthin'  'bout  treating  one  ob  'em  —  Miss  Eloise  —  one 
time  he  wus  ober  yere.  Sure,  deys  dere  all  right." 
"Do  you  know  a  lawyer  named  Haines  ?" 


PICKING  UP  THE  THREADS^ 69 

"Livin'  down  at  de  Landin'  ?    Yas,  sah." 

I  lifted  myself  up  in  the  bed,  too  deeply  interested  to 
lie  still  any  longer. 

"Now  listen,  Pete,"  I  explained  earnestly.  "I've  got 
sufficient  money  to  pay  you  well  for  all  you  do,  and,  just 
as  soon  as  you  get  me  something  to  eat,  I  want  you  to  go 
down  to  the  Landing  and  bring  Lawyer  Haines  back  here 
with  you.  Just  tell  him  a  sick  white  man  wants  to  see  him 
at  once,  and  not  a  word  to  anyone  else.  You  might  tell 
Haines  this  is  a  private  matter  —  you  understand?" 

"Yas,  sah,"  the  whites  of  his  eyes  rolling.  "He  done 
know  ol'  Pete,  an'  I'll  sure  bring  him  back  yere." 

It  was  dark  when  they  came,  the  fire  alone  lighting  up 
the  interior  of  the  dingy  cabin  with  a  fitful  glow  of  red 
flame.  I  had  managed  to  get  out  of  bed  and  partially 
dress  myself-,  feeling  stronger,  and  in  less  pain  as  I  exer 
cised  my  muscles.  They  found  me  seated  before  the  fire 
place,  indulging  in  a  pot  of  fresh  coffee.  Haines  was  a 
small,  sandy-complexioned  man,  with  a  straggling  beard 
and  light  blue  eyes.  He  appeared  competent  enough,  a 
bundle  of  nervous  energy,  and  yet  there  was  something 
about  the  fellow  which  instantly  impressed  me  unfavor 
ably —  probably  his  short,  jerky  manner  of  speech,  and 
his  inability  to  look  straight  at  you. 

"Pete  has  been  telling  me  who  you  are,  Lieutenant," 
he  said,  as  we  shook  hands,  "and  putting  some  other 
things  together  I  can  guess  the  rest.  You  came  south  on 
the  Warrior/' 

"From  Fort  Armstrong  —  yes;  who  told  you  this?" 

"Captain  Thockmorton.  I  saw  him  in  St.  Louis,  and 
he  seemed  deeply  grieved  by  your  sudden  disappear- 


70  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

ance.  No  one  on  board  was  able  to  explain  what  had 
occurred." 

"Yet  there  were  two  men  on  the  boat  who  could  have 
explained,  if  they  had  cared  to  do  so,"  I  answered  dryly. 
"I  mean  Kirby  and  Carver;  they  wrere  the  ones  who  threw 
me  overboard." 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  his  keen,  ferret  eyes  on  my 
face. 

"Kirby  and  Carver?  They  went  ashore  with  the 
Judge's  body  at  the  Landing.  So  there  is  a  story  back 
of  all  this,'7  he  exclaimed  jerkily.  "Damn  it,  I  thought 
as  much.  Was  Beaucaire  killed  ?" 

"No  —  not  at  least  by  any  violence.  No  doubt  the 
shock  of  his  loss  hastened  his  death.  Surely  you  must 
know  that  he  risked  all  he  possessed  on  a  game  of  cards 
and  lost?" 

"Thockmorton  knew  something  about  it,  and  there 
were  other  rumors  floating  about  the  Landing,  but  I  have 
heard  no  details," 

"You  did  not  see  the  two  men,  then  ?" 

"No,  I  was  not  at  home,  and  they  went  on  down  the 
river  the  next  day  on  a  keel-boat.  You  saw  the  play  ?" 

"I  saw  the  last  part  of  the  game  and  was  convinced, 
as  all  the  others  present  were,  that  the  Judge  was  deliber 
ately  ruined  for  a  purpose.  I  believe  it  was  all  planned 
beforehand,  but  of  this  we  have  no  tangible  proof." 

"His  opponent  was  Joe  Kirby?" 

"And  a  fellow  named  Carver,  a  mere  hanger-on." 

Haines  wet  his  lips,  his  eyes  narrowing  to  mere  slits, 
his  professional  nature  coming  to  the  front. 

"First,  let  me  ask  you  why  you  believe  Beaucaire  was 


PICKING  UP  THE  THREADS 71 

cheated?"  he  piped.  "I  know  Joe  Kirby,  and  consider 
him  quite  capable  of  such  a  trick,  but  we  shall  need  more 
than  suspicion  to  circumvent  his  scheme." 

"I  have  every  reason,  Haines,  to  feel  convinced  that 
both  Kirby  and  Carver  trailed  Beaucaire  up  the  river  with 
the  intention  of  plucking  him.  Kirby  practically  con 
fessed  this  to  me,  boastingly,  afterwards.  All  the  way 
down  he  was  bantering  the  Judge  to  play.  That  last  night 
he  so  manipulated  the  cards  —  or  rather  Carver  did,  for 
it  was  his  deal  —  as  to  deceive  Beaucaire  into  firmly 
believing  that  he  held  an  absolutely  unbeatable  hand  —  he 
was  dealt  four  aces  and  a  king." 

The  lawyer  leaned  forward,  breathing  heavily. 

"Four  aces!  Only  one  hand  is  better  than  that,  and 
it  would  be  impossible  to  get  such  a  hand  out  of  one  pack." 

"That  is  exactly  true,  Haines.  I  am  no  card  player, 
but  I  do  know  that  much  about  the  game.  Yet  Kirby  took 
the  pot  with  a  straight  flush.  Now,  either  he,  or  Carver, 
slipped  an  extra  ace  into  the  pack,  or  else  Beaucaire  did. 
In  my  opinion  the  Judge  had  no  chance  to  work  such  a 
trick.  And  that's  the  case,  as  it  stands." 

Haines  jumped  to  his  feet  and  began  pacing  the  dirt 
floor  excitedly,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back. 

"By  God,  man!"  he  cried,  pausing  suddenly.  "Even  if 
he  did  have  a  chance,  the  Judge  never  did  it  —  never.  He 
was  a  good  sport,  and  always  played  a  straight  game. 
You  say  he  bet  everything  he  had?" 

"To  the  last  dollar  —  Kirby  egged  him  on.  Besides 
the  money,  a  deed  to  his  land,  and  a  bill  of  sale  for  his 
negroes  were  on  the  table." 

"The  field  hands,  you  mean?" 


72 THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

"Yes,  and  the  house  servants.  Kirby  insisted  that  he 
write  these  words,  'This  includes  every  chattel  slave 
legally  belonging  to  me,'  and  made  Beaucaire  sign  it  in 
that  form.'' 

Haines'  face  was  white,  his  eyes  staring  at  me  incredu 
lously. 

"God  help  us,  man !  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?" 
he  gasped. 

"I  am  almost  afraid  I  do,"  I  answered,  yet  startled  by 
his  manner.  "That  was  why  I  sent  for  you.  Would  that 
include  his  son's  daughter?" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Yes,"  he  confessed  brokenly.  "To  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  Rene  Beaucaire  is  a  slave." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  DECIDE  MY  DUTY 

/T^HE  silence  following  this  blunt  statement  was  sicken- 
•*•  ing.  Up  to  that  moment,  in  spite  of  every  fact 
brought  to  my  knowledge,  I  had  secretly  believed  this  con 
dition  of  affairs  impossible.  Surely  somewhere,  through 
some  legal  form,  Judge  Beaucaire  had  guarded  the  future 
safety  of  this  young  woman,  whom  he  had  admitted  into 
his  household.  Any  other  conception  seemed  impossible, 
too  monstrous,  too  preposterous  for  consideration.  But 
now  the  solemn  words  of  the  lawyer,  his  own  legal  coun 
selor,  brought  conviction,  and  for  the  moment  all  power 
of  speech  deserted  me.  It  was  actually  true  then  —  the 
girl  was  a  slave,  a  thing  belonging  to  Kirby.  Nothing 
broke  the  stillness  within  the  cabin,  except  the  sharp 
crackling  of  flames  in  the  open  fireplace,  and  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  negro.  He  was  seated  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed,  his  black  face  showing  a  greenish  tint,  and  reveal 
ing  puzzled  amazement,  with  wide-opened  eyes  staring 
blankly  at  Haines,  who  stood  motionless  before  the 
fire. 

"Whut  wus  dat  yer  sed,  Mister  Haines?"  he  asked 
thickly.  "You  say  as  how  Missus  Rene  Beaucaire  is  a 
slave,  sah?  Pears  like  I  don't  just  rightfully  understan'." 

"Still  that  is  true,  Pete,"  and  the  lawyer  lifted  his  head 
and  surveyed  us  both.  "She  is  the  illegitimate  daughter 
of  Delia,  Judge  Beaucaire's  housekeeper;  her  father  was 


74 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN ^ 

Adalbert  Beaucaire,  the*  Judge's  only  son.  No  one  knows 
where  he  is,  dead  or  alive." 

"De  good  Lord !    An'  de  ol'  Jedge  never  set  her  free  ?" 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head,  words  evidently  failing  him. 

"'But  are  you  absolutely  certain  of  this?"  I  broke  in 
impatiently.  "Have  you  searched  the  records  ?" 

"Not  only  searched  them,  Knox,  but,  before  he  left  for 
the  north  on  this  last  trip,  Beaucaire  was  in  my  office,  and 
I  practically  forced  him  to  acknowledge  the  negligence. 
He  even  authorized  me  to  draw  up  the  necessary  papers 
for  him  to  sign  on  his  return  -—  for  both  Delia  and  the 
girl.  They  are  in  my  desk  now,  unexecuted.  There  is  no 
mistake  —  Rene  is  legally  a  slave,  together  with  her 
mother." 

"My  God!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  an  indictment  of 
slavery.  Could  anyone  conceive  a  more  horrible  posi 
tion!  Here  is  a  young  girl,  educated,  refined,  of  more 
than  ordinary  attractiveness  Thockmorton  tells  me, 
brought  up  amid  every  comfort,  and  led  to  believe  her 
self  the  honored  daughter  of  the  house,  awakening  in  an 
instant  to  the  fact  that  she  is  a  slave,  with  negro  blood 
in  her  veins  —  a  mere  chattel,  owned  body  and  soul  by  a 
gambler,  won  in  a  card  game,  and  to  be  sold  to  the  highest 
bidder.  Haines,  I  tell  you  Kirby  knew  all  this." 

"Kirbyknew?    Why  do  you  say  that  ?" 

"He  boasted  of  it.  I  thought  little  about  what  he  said 
at  the  time,  but  I  believe  now  one  of  his  main  objects  was 
to  gain  possession  of  this  girl.  That  would  account  for 
his  insistence  upon  that  peculiar  clause  in  the  bill  of  sale 
—  he  either  suspected,  or  had  discovered  through  some 
source,  that  Rene  Beaucaire  had  never  been  set  free.  For 


/  DECIDE  MY  DUTY 75 

some  reason  he  desired  possession  of  both  Beaucaire 
girls ;  they  meant  more  to  him  than  either  the  money  or 
the  property.  This  card  game  gave  him  one ;  the  other — "" 

"Eloise,  you  mean?     Did  the  fellow  threaten  her?" 

"Here  is  what  he  said  sneeringly,  you  can  judge  your 
self  what  he  meant,  'She's  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars 
by  her  mother's  will,  and  I  intend  to  win  her  if  I  can,  fair 
means  or  foul/ ' 

Haines  did  not  speak  for  some  moments,  his  eyes  on  my 
face.  Then  he  paced  back  and  forth  across  the  floor, 
finally  stopping  before  the  fire. 

"This  is  as  near  hell  as  anything  I  ever  knew,"  he  said, 
"and  so  far  as  I  can  see  there  is  no  legal  way  out  of  it. 
We  are  utterly  helpless  to  assist." 

"We  are  not,"  I  answered  hotly,  "if  we  are  men.  There 
may  be  no  legal  way  in  which  we  can  beat  this  villain,  but 
there  is  an  illegal  one,  unless  we  are  already  too  late,  and 
I  propose  to  use  it,  whether  you  join  me  or  not." 

"You  have  a  plan?    What  is  it?" 

"The  only  one  feasible.  I  thought  of  its  possibility 
before  on  the  boat,  when  a  suspicion  of  this  situation 
first  came  to  me.  You  are  sure  the  girls  are  still  at  the 
plantation  house?  that  they  know  nothing  of  this  condi 
tion?" 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  so.  Delia  was  buying  pro 
visions  at  the  Landing  yesterday;  I  talked  with  her  a 
moment." 

"And  you  said  that  Kirby  and  Carver  were  only  in 
town  for  one  night,  leaving  the  next  morning  on  a  keel- 
boat  for  St.  Louis.  Probably  they  did  not  visit  the  plan 
tation  at  all,  unless  it  was  to  scout  around.  My  idea  is 


76 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

they  were  not  quite  ready  to  take  possession;  that  they 
have  gone  to  St.  Louis  to  file  the  papers,  and  will  come 
back  with  officers  prepared  to  execute  them.  This  means 
that  we  must  work  fast  to  get  out  of  their  way/' 

"What  do  you  propose  doing?" 

"Let  me  ask  a  question  first.  Is  it  true  that  Eloise  Beau- 
caire  is  heiress  to  fifty  thousand  dollars  through  her 
mother's  estate?" 

"Yes,  I  invested  most  of  it." 

"In  what?" 

"New  Orleans  property  principally." 

"Then  it  is  safe  enough  whatever  happens.  The  only 
thing  we  can  do  is  this :  Tell  those  girls  and  the  mother 
the  whole  truth  —  tell  them  at  once,  before  Kirby  can 
return,  and  then  help  them  to  get  out  of  this  country.  It 
is  not  necessary  for  Eloise  to  go,  unless  she  desires  to, 
but  there  is  no  other  safe  course  for  Delia  and  Rene. 
They  must  reach  a  northern  state  before  Kirby  can  lay 
hands  on  them.  Could  Delia  pass  for  a  white  woman?" 

"Not  in  the  South ;  still  she  could  travel  as  Rene's  maid. 
But  I  do  not  believe  it  is  possible  for  the  two  to  escape  in 
that  way,  Knox.  Understand  I'd  be  willing  to  risk  it  if 
there  were  any  show.  How  can  it  be  done  ?  On  the  aver 
age  at  this  time  of  year  there  isn't  a  steamboat  along  here 
once  a  month.  If  we  did  get  them  onto  a  boat  they  would 
have  to  travel  straight  south  as  far  as  the  Ohio.  Kirby 
wouldn't  be  more  than  a  day  or  two  behind  them,  with 
friends  on  every  boat  on  the  river.  Illinois  is  no  free  state 
for  fugitive  slaves  —  they  might  just  as  well  be  caught  in 
Missouri  as  over  there.  There  is  not  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  that  they  make  it." 


I  DECIDE  MY  DUTY  77 

"And  less  than  that,  if  they  remain  here  for  Kirby  to 
get  his  hands  on,"  I  retorted  bitterly.  "Now  look  here, 
Haines.  I  am  going  to  carry  out  this  plan  alone,  if  you 
will  not  back  me  in  it.  I  am  not  talking  about  steamboats ; 
they  could  travel  by  night,  and  hide  along  shore  during 
the  day.  All  they  would  need  would  be  two  negro  oars 
men,  sufficient  food,  and  a  boat  big  enough  to  carry  them 
safely.  You  have  small  boats,  surely?" 

"I  got  one,  Massa  Knox,"  burst  out  Pete  eagerly. 
"She's  down  by  de  mouth  ob  de  creek,  sah,  an'  she  sure 
am  a  mighty  good  boat.  We  could  load  her  up  right  here, 
an'  I'd  be  one  ob  de  niggers  fer  ter  take  dem  ladies  down 
ribber.  I'se  a  free  boy,  an'  nobody  care  whar  I  done  go." 

These  unexpected  words  heartened  me,  strengthened 
my  own  resolve,  and  I  obeyed  the  first  impulse,  instantly 
crossing  the  room  and  frankly  extending  my  hand  to  the 
surprised  negro. 

"That  sounds  like  a  man,  Pete,"  I  exclaimed  warmly. 
"Yes,  of  course  I  mean  it  —  shake  hands.  You  are  white 
enough  for  me,  boy,  and  I  do  not  propose  letting  you  do 
any  more  than  I  am  willing  to  do.  I'll  go  along  with 
you  on  this  trip.  I  have  sixty  days  furlough." 

I  turned  and  faced  the  lawyer,  my  mind  firmly  settled 
on  the  scheme,  and  determined  upon  carrying  it  out 
instantly. 

"And  now,  what  about  you,  Haines?"  I  demanded. 
"Are  you  ready  to  help?  Come,  man,  surely  this  is  not 
something  we  have  any  time  to  debate.  Kirby  is  liable 
to  show  up  at  any  moment  with  full  authority,  and  the 
sheriff  to  back  him.  It  is  still  early  in  the  evening  and 
we  must  work  tonight,  if  at  all." 


78  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"You  haven't  the  strength  for  such  a  venture,"  he  pro 
tested. 

"Haven't  I?"  and  I  laughed.  "Oh,  yes  I  have.  lam 
young  and  this  wound  is  nothing.  I  may  be  a  bit  stiff  in 
the  shoulder  for  a  few  days,  but  I  can  pull  an  oar  with 
one  hand.  That  never  will  stop  me.  Are  you  with 
us?" 

He  was  slow  in  replying,  and,  as  I  eagerly  watched  his 
face,  I  could  almost  comprehend  the  working  of  the  law 
yer  mind.  He  saw  and  argued  every  doubt,  considered 
every  danger. 

"In  spirit,  yes,"  he  answered  at  last,  "but  not  physic 
ally.  I  believe  under  the  circumstances  you  are  justified, 
Knox.  Perhaps  I'd  do  the  same  thing  if  I  was  in  your 
place  and  had  your  youth  behind  me.  But  I  am  a  lawyer, 
fifty  years  old,  and  this  is  my  home.  If  the  story  ever 
got  out  that  I  took  part  in  nigger  stealing,  that  would  be 
the  end  of  me  in  Missouri.  As  you  say,  you  are  a  young 
man,  and  I  reckon  you  were  not  brought  up  in  the  South 
either.  That  makes  a  difference.  You  can  take  the  risk, 
but  about  all  I  can  do  will  be  to  keep  a  quiet  tongue  in 
my  head.  Nobody  will  ever  learn  what  has  happened 
through  me  —  I'll  promise  you  that.  But  that  is  all  I  can 
promise." 

"Yet  you  acknowledge  this  is  the  only  way  ?  No  legal 
course  is  open  to  us  ?" 

"Absolutely  none.  If  there  was  I  should  never  con 
sent  to  be  a  party  to  this  plan,  or  shield  you  in  any  way. 
Kirby  has  undoubtedly  got  the  law  with  him.  We  cannot 
establish  fraud;  the  property  actually  belongs  to  him  — 
both  mother  and  daughter  are  his  slaves." 


I  DECIDE  MY  DUTY 79 

"And  how  about  the  other  girl — Eloise  ?" 

"He  has  no  legal  hold  on  her;  she  is  a  free  white 
woman.  He  could  only  hope  to  overcome  her  resistance 
by  threats.  The  plantation  is  irrevocably  lost  to  the 
Beaucaires,  but  she  possesses  the  power  to  defy  him  be 
cause  of  her  mother's  property.  If  Kirby  marries  her,  it 
will  only  be  through  her  consent." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  from  the  table,  and  a  stout  stick 
he  had  brought  along  with  him,  taking  a  step  toward  the 
door. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  I  consider  this  a  mad  scheme," 
he  paused  to  add  gravely,  "and  that  it  will  probably  fail. 
There  is  a  possible  chance  of  success,  I  admit,  and  for 
that  reason  I  permit  you  to  go  ahead  with  it,  and  pledge 
myself  to  keep  the  secret.  I  was  rather  intimately  asso 
ciated  with  Beaucaire  for  a  number  of  years,  and  to  see 
his  granddaughter  sold  into  slavery,  even  if  she  does 
have  a  drop  of  nigger  blood  in  her  veins,  is  more  than  I 
can  stand,  without  giving  her  a  chance  to  get  away. 
That  is  why  I  consent  to  abet  a  crime,  and  keep  still 
about  it.  But  beyond  that  I'll  not  go.  I  am  a  southerner, 
Knox;  my  father  owned  slaves.  I  believe  in  the  system, 
and  have  always  upheld  it.  Nobody  in  Missouri  hates  a 
Black  Abolitionist  worse  than  I  do;  if  anyone  had  ever 
said  I  would  help  a  nigger  run  away,  I'd  call  him  a  liar  in 
a  minute.  Do  you  understand  the  position  this  damned 
affair  puts  me  into?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Haines,"  and  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him, 
with  fresh  cordiality.  "It  is  uncommonly  white  of  you 
to  even  go  that  far.  On  the  other  hand  I  was  brought 
up  to  despise  slavery.  I'll  pledge  you  this  —  for  Pete 


80  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

here,  as  well  as  myself  —  that  if  we  are  caught,  your 
name  shall  never  be  mentioned.  Have  you  any  advice 
to  give?" 

He  paused  uncertainly,  his  hand  on  the  latch,  the  fire 
light  flashing  up  into  his  face. 

"Only  this,"  he  said  slowly.  "If  I  were  you  I'd  never 
attempt  to  go  south.  Below  St.  Louis  boats  are  numer 
ous,  and  you  would  be  almost  certain  to  be  discovered. 
If  Kirby  chases  you  —  and  I  know  him  well  enough  to 
be  sure  he  will  —  he  will  naturally  take  it  for  granted 
that  you  have  headed  for  the  Ohio.  The  very  fact  that 
the  fugitives  are  women  would  convince  him  of  this.  To 
my  mind  the  one  chance  of  your  getting  away,  lies  to  the 
north — up  the  Illinois." 

"That  thought  was  in  my  mind  also,"  I  admitted, 
thoroughly  satisfied  now  that  he  was  really  friendly,  and 
to  be  trusted.  "I  have  been  told  that  the  settlers 
north  of  that  stream  came  mostly  from  New  England — 
is  that  true?" 

"To  a  large  extent.  We  have  reason  to  believe  there 
is  an  underground  road  in  operation  from  the  river  to 
Canada,  and  many  a  runaway  nigger  makes  the  trip 
every  year.  That  ought  to  be  your  best  course,  but 
there  is  no  time  now  to  put  the  women  in  the  care  of 
those  men.  Of  course  I  don't  know  who  they  are  —  per 
haps  Pete  does?" 

"No,  sah,"  protested  the  black  quickly.  "Tears 
like  I  never  heerd  tell  'bout  dem.  I'se  a  free  nigger, 
sah." 

The  lawyer's  shrewd  eyes  twinkled. 

"And  that  is  exactly  why,  you  black  rascal,  I  believe 


/  DECIDE  MY  DUTY  81 

you  really  do  know.  I  reckon,  Knox,  he'll  tell  you  what 
he  wouldn't  tell  me.  Anyhow,  good  luck  to  you  both, 
and  good  night." 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  the  negro  and  I 
were  alone.  All  at  once  I  realized  the  desperate  nature 
of  this  adventure  I  had  undertaken,  and  its  possible  con 
sequences.  Haines'  words  had  driven  it  home  to  my 
mind,  causing  me  to  comprehend  the  viewpoint  of  this 
neighborhood,  the  hatred  men  felt  for  a  nigger-stealer, 
and  what  my  fate  would  be  if  once  caught  in  the  act. 
Yet  the  die  was  already  cast;  I  had  pledged  myself  to 
action;  was  fully  committed  to  the  attempted  rescue  of 
Rene  Beaucaire,  and  no  thought  of  any  retreat  once 
occurred  to  me.  I  opened  the  door  cautiously,  glancing 
out  into  the  night,  to  thus  assure  myself  we  were  alone, 
closed  it  again,  and  came  back.  The  negro  still 
remained  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  digging  his  toes 
into  the  hard  earth  of  the  floor. 

"Pete,"  I  began  earnestly.  "You  trust  me,  don't  you? 
You  do  not  suspect  me  of  being  any  slave-hunter?" 

"No,  sah,  Massa  Knox,  I  ain't  'feared  o'  yer  —  yers 
one  o'  dem  down-easterners." 

"Well,  not  exactly  that.  I  came  from  a  slave  state,  but 
my  family  is  of  New  England  blood  and  breeding.  I 
am  just  as  much  your  friend  as  though  you  were  white. 
Now  you  and  I  have  got  a  hard  job  before  us." 

"Yas,  sah,  we  sure  has." 

"And  the  first  thing  we  have  got  to  do,  is  to  trust 
each  other.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question  — 
is  that  the  best  way  for  us  to  go,  up  the  Illinois  ?" 

He  was  slow  to  answer,  evidently  turning  the  whole 


82 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

matter  over  in  his  mind.  I  waited  impatiently,  feeling 
the  delay  to  be  a  serious  loss  of  time. 

"Well  then,  let  me  put  this  differently.  Have  you  ever 
assisted  any  slaves  to  run  away  from  Missouri?" 

"Well,  Massa  Knox,  I  reckon  thet  maybe  I  knew'd 
'bout  som'  gittin'  away — 'pears  like  I  did,  sah." 

"And  these  escaped  by  way  of  the  Illinois?'5 

His  dumb,  almost  pathetic  eyes  met  mine  pleadingly, 
but  some  expression  of  my  face  served  to  yield  him 
courage. 

"I  —  I  reckon  I  —  I  don't  know  much  'bout  all  dis, 
Massa  Knox,"  he  stammered  doubtfully,  his  hands  lock 
ing  and  unlocking  nervously  "I  —  I  sure  don';  an'  fer 
<le  mattah  o'  dat,  ther  ain't  nobody  whut  does,  sah.  All 
I  does  know,  fer  sure,  is  dat  if  a  nigger  onct  gets  as  fer 
as  a  certain  white  man  up  de  ribber,  'bout  whar  de  mouth 
ob  de  Illinois  is,  he's  got  a  mighty  good  chance  fer  ter 
reach  Canada.  De  next  place  whar  he's  most  likely  ter 
stop  is  Beardstown,  long  wid  som'  sorter  preacher  whut 
lives  thar.  An'  thet's  as  fer  as  dey  ever  done  tol'  me, 
sah." 

"About  this  first  white  man  —  the  one  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Illinois  —  do  you  know  his  name?" 

Pete  rose  to  his  feet,  and  crossed  the  room  to  where  I 
stood,  bending  down  until  his  lips  were  close  to  my  ear. 
His  answer  was  spoken  in  a  thick  whisper. 

"Massa  Knox,  I  never  did  'spect  to  say  dis  ter  no 
white  man,  but  it  seems  I  just  nat'larly  got  fer  ter  tell 
yer.  I  done  heerd  thet  man  say  onct  just  whut  yer  did, 
thet  a  nigger  wus  just  as  much  his  frien'  as  though  he 
wus  white  —  thet  it  wan't  de  skin  nohow  what  counted, 


I  DECIDE  MY  DUTY 83 

but  de  heart.  No,  sah,  I  ain't  feered  fer  ter  tell  yer,  Massa 
Knox.  He's  got  a  cabin  hid  way  back  in  de  bluffs,  whar 
nobody  don't  go,  'cept  dem  who  know  whar  it  is.  I 
reckon  he  don't  do  nuthin'  but  hunt  an'  fish  nohow  — 
leastways  he  don't  raise  no  corn,  nor  truck  fer  ter  sell. 
He's  a  tall,  lanky  man,  sah,  sorter  thin,  with  a  long  beard, 
an'  his  name  wus  Amos  Shrunk.  I  reckon  maybe  he's  a 
Black  Abolitionist,  sah/' 

"Quite  likely,  I  should  say.  And  you  could  take  a 
boat  from  here  to  his  place?" 

"Sure,  the  darkest  night  yer  ever  see.  Inter  the 
mouth  ob  a  crick,  'bout  a  hundred  rods  up  de  Illinois. 
Den  thar's  a  path,  a  sorter  path,  whut  goes  ter  de  cabin ; 
but  most  genir'ly  he's  down  thar  waitin'  et  night.  Yer 
see  dey  never  sure  knows  when  som'  nigger  is  goin' 
fer  ter  git  away  —  only  mostly  it's  at  night/' 

This  knowledge  greatly  simplified  matters.  If  there 
was  already  in  operation  an  organized  scheme  by  means 
of  which  fugitives  from  this  side  of  the  great  river  were 
taken  through  to  Canada,  protected  and  assisted  along  the 
way  by  the  friends  of  freedom,  then  all  we  would  be 
required  to  do  in  this  case  would  be  to  safely  convey  the 
unfortunate  Rene  and  her  mother  in  Pete's  boat  up  the 
river,  and  there  turn  them  over  to  the  care  of  this  Amos 
Shrunk.  Undoubtedly  he  could  be  trusted  to  see  to  it 
that  they  were  promptly  forwarded  to  others,  fanatics 
like  himself,  who  would  swiftly  pass  them  along  at  night 
across  the  Illinois  prairies,  until  beyond  all  danger  of 
pursuit.  Hundreds,  no  doubt,  had  traveled  this  route, 
and,  once  these  two  were  in  Shrunk's  care  our  responsi 
bility  would  be  over  with.  It  was  to  me  a  vast  relief  to 


84 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

realize  this.  The  distance  to  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois 
could  not  be  far,  surely  not  to  exceed  fifty  miles  as  the 
river  ran.  It  ought  not  to  prove  difficult  to  baffle  Kirby 
for  that  short  distance,  and  then  we  would  be  free  to 
return,  and  no  one  could  prove  any  charge  against  us. 
Indeed  it  was  my  purpose  to  immediately  proceed  down 
the  river  on  my  furlough,  and  probably  it  would  never 
so  much  as  be  suspected  that  the  negro  had  been  away. 
Ever  since  my  boyhood  I  had  listened  to  stories  concern 
ing  the  operation  of  Underground  Railroads  by  means 
of  which  slaves  were  assisted  to  freedom,  and  now  felt 
no  hesitancy  in  confiding  these  two  women  to  the  care 
of  their  operators.  The  only  important  fact  fronting  us 
was  that  we  must  act  quickly,  before  Kirby  and  his  aides, 
armed  with  legal  authority,  could  return — this  very 
night. 

"Pete,"  I  said  shortly,  my  tone  unconsciously  one  of 
authority,  "we  must  be  out  of  here  before  daylight,  and 
safely  hidden  somewhere  up  the  river.  The  first  thing 
to  be  done,  and  the  hardest,  is  to  explain  to  those  women 
the  situation,  and  persuade  them  to  accompany  us.  They 
may  not  believe  my  story ;  that  was  why  I  was  so  anxious 
to  have  Haines  go  to  the  house.  They  would  have  con 
fidence  in  him.  Do  they  know  you  ?" 

"Lord  love  yer  —  ob  course  dey  do.  I'se  knowed  all 
ob  'em  for  a  long  while,  sah.  Why  when  I  furst  don'  see 
dem  Beaucaire  gals  dey  wus  just  infants.  Dey '11  sure 
believe  ol'  Pete." 

"Well,  we  can  only  try  our  best.  Have  you  any  con 
veyance  here?" 

"Any  whut,  sah?" 


I  DECIDE  MY  DUTY  85 

"Any  wheeled  vehicle  in  which  we  can  ride  to  Beau- 
caire,  and  by  means  of  which  we  can  bring  the  women 
back?  The  distance  is  too  far  to  walk." 

'Tse  got  a  sorter  khart,  an'  an  ol'  muel,  sah.  Dey's 
out  yonder  in  de  bush." 

"Hitch  them  up  at  once,  while  I  put  a  few  things  we 
may  need  in  the  boat.  Show  me  how  to  find  it." 

He  pointed  out  the  path,  with  the  directions  necessary, 
and  disappeared,  while  I  returned  to  the  cabin,  dragged 
a  blanket  from  off  the  bed,  and  filled  it  with  whatever 
miscellaneous  articles  of  food  I  was  able  to  discover 
about  the  place.  My  wound,  now  that  I  was  busily  en 
gaged,  troubled  me  very  little,  and,  gathering  the  four 
corners  of  the  blanket  together,  I  easily  transported  this 
stock  of  provisions  to  the  river  bank,  and  safely  stowed 
them  away  in  the  boat  found  there.  I  returned  to  dis 
cover  the  mule  and  cart  ready,  and  a  few  moments  later 
we  were  creaking  slowly  along  a  gloomy  wood  road,  jolt 
ing  over  the  stumps,  with  Pete  walking  beside  the  ani 
mal's  head,  whispering  encouragement  into  the  flapping 
ear.  The  great  adventure  had  begun. 


T 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE 

HE  road  we  followed  appeared  to  be  endless,  and 
so  rough  that  I  soon  climbed  down  from  my  seat, 
an  unplaned  board,  uncomfortable  enough  under  any 
conditions,  in  the  swaying,  bumping  cart,  and  stumbled 
blindly  along  behind,  tripping  over  stumps  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  wrenching  my  ankles  painfully  in  deep  ruts. 
Progress  was  slow,  not  only  because  of  the  difficulties  of 
the  passage,  but  equally  on  account  of  the  obstinacy  of 
the  mule.  Indeed,  it  required  no  small  diplomacy  on 
the  part  of  the  negro  to  induce  the  animal  to  proceed  at 
all,  and  finally,  despairing  of  the  efficiency  of  words,  he 
drew  a  club,  evidently  reserved  for  such  emergencies, 
from  the  interior  of  the  cart,  and  gave  utterance  to  an 
ultimatum.  Following  this  display  of  force  our  ad 
vance  became  a  trifle  more  rapid. 

I  endeavored  to  think,  to  plan  more  definitely  my 
course  upon  arriving  at  the  Beaucaire  plantation,  but 
discovered  it  quite  impossible  to  concentrate  my  mind 
upon  anything.  My  entire  attention  had  to  be  riveted 
on  the  intricacies  of  the  road,  which  wound  in  and 
out  among  the  bluffs,  down  one  gully  and  up  another, 
until  I  finally  lost  all  sense  of  direction,  and  merely 
stumbled  on  after  the  dark  outlines  of  the  cart,  through 
a  black  cave  formed  by  the  branches  of  over-arching 
trees. 

86 


HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  87 

It  was  considerably  after  ten  o'clock  when  we  emerged 
upon  an  open  plateau,  and  a  glimmer  of  stars  overhead 
revealed  to  me  afar  off  the  silver  thread  of  the  great 
river.  Even  in  that  dim  light  I  could  trace  its  winding 
course  along  the  valley,  and  the  view  by  daylight  from 
this  point  must  have  been  a  delight  to  the  eye.  Pete 
stopped  the  straining  mule,  a  feat  not  at  all  difficult  of 
accomplishment,  the  animal's  sides  rising  and  falling  as 
he  wheezed  for  breath,  and  came  back  to  where  I  stood, 
staring  about  at  the  dimly  perceived  objects  in  the  fore 
ground. 

"Out  dar  am  de  Beaucaire  place,"  he  announced,  as 
soon  as  he  could  distinguish  my  presence,  waving  his 
arm  to  indicate  the  direction.  "An'  I  reckon  we  bettah 
not  ride  no  further,  fer  if  Alick  shud  smell  corn,  he'd 
nat'larly  raise  dis  whol'  neighborhood  —  he's  got  a  power 
ful  voice,  sah." 

"Equal  to  his  appetite  no  doubt." 

"Yas,  sah;  that's  mostly  whut  Alick  am." 

"How  far  away  is  the  house?" 

"Likely  'bout  a  hundred  yards.  Yer  see  dat  light  out 
yonder;  well  dat's  it,  an'  I  reckon  de  ladies  mus'  be  up 
yet,  keepin'  de  lamp  burnin'.  Here's  de  slave  cabins 
'long  de  edge  ob  de  woods,  but  dey's  all  dark.  What's 
yer  a  goin'  fer  ter  do  now,  Massa  Knox?" 

I  was  conscious  that  my  heart  was  beating  rapidly, 
and  that  my  mind  was  anything  but  clear.  The  prob 
lem  fronting  me  did  not  appear  so  easily  solved,  now  that 
I  was  fairly  up  against  it,  and  yet  there  seemed  only  one 
natural  method  of  procedure.  I  must  go  at  my  unpleas 
ant  task  boldly,  and  in  this  case  only  the  truth  would 


88  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

serve.  I  was  an  officer  in  the  United  States  Army,  and 
had  in  my  pocket  papers  to  prove  my  identity.  These 
would  vouch  for  me  as  a  gentleman,  and  yield  me  a  meas 
ure  of  authority.  And  this  fact,  once  established,  ought 
to  give  me  sufficient  standing  in  the  eyes  of  those  girls 
to  compel  from  them  a  respectful  hearing.  I  would  tell 
the  story  exactly  as  I  knew  it,  concealing  nothing,  and 
adding  no  unnecessary  word,  outline  my  plan  of  action, 
and  then  leave  them  to  decide  what  they  thought  best 
to  do.  This  was  the  simple,  sensible  way,  and  I  had 
implicit  faith  that  they  would  accept  my  statement,  and 
believe  my  offer  of  assistance  an  honest  one.  I  could 
not  perceive  how  they  could  do  otherwise.  Strange,  un 
believable  as  the  situation  was,  proof  was  not  lacking. 
Delia  could  be  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  Rene  was 
her  child  —  she  would  scarcely  dare  deny  this  truth  in 
face  of  my  positive  knowledge  —  and  she,  at  least,  must 
know  that  Judge  Beaucaire  had  never  during  his  life 
time  given  her  her  freedom.  This  fact  could  be  estab 
lished  beyond  question,  and  then  they  must  surely  all 
comprehend  the  necessity  of  immediate  flight  —  that 
there  remained  no  other  possible  means  of  escape  from 
hopeless  slavery.  Desperate  as  the  chance  appeared,  it 
was  the  only  one. 

It  was  a  disagreeable,  heart-rending  task  which  I  had 
taken  upon  myself,  but  it  could  be  no  longer  avoided.  It 
dawned  upon  me  now  with  more  intense  force  than  ever 
before  the  position  in  which  I  stood,  and  I  shrank  from 
the  ordeal.  A  perfect  stranger,  not  even  a  chance 
acquaintance  of  those  directly  involved  in  this  tragedy,  I 
would  have  to  drag  out  from  the  closet,  where  it  had  been 


HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  89 

hidden  away  for  years,  this  old  Beaucaire  skeleton,  and 
rattle  the  dried  bones  of  dishonor  before  the  horrified 
understanding  of  these  two  innocent,  unsuspecting  girls. 
I  knew  nothing  of  their  characters,  or  of  how  they  would 
meet  such  a  revelation,  and  yet  they  must  be  made  to 
See,  and  thoroughly  comprehend  the  situation;  must  be 
compelled  to  face  the  horror  and  disgrace  of  their  posi 
tion,  and  aroused  to  action.  I  had  little  thought  then  for 
the  slave  mother ;  doubtless  she  had  been  expecting  some 
such  exposure  for  years,  and  was,  at  least,  partially  steeled 
to  meet  it.  But  for  the  two  girls,  brought  up  as  sisters, 
close  companions  since  infancy,  having  no  previous  sus 
picion  of  the  dreadful  truth,  this  sudden  revelation 
would  be  worse  than  death.  Yet  now  concealment  would 
be  no  kindness ;  indeed,  the  tenderest  mercy  I  could  show 
was  to  tell  them  in  all  frankness  the  whole  miserable  story 
of  crime  and  neglect;  and  then  point  out  to  them  the  only 
remaining  means  of  escape  from  the  consequence  of 
others'  sins. 

These  thoughts,  definite  and  compelling,  flashed 
through  my  mind  as  I  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  vainly 
seeking  to  distinguish  the  distant  outlines  of  the  great 
house,  from  one  window  alone  of  which  the  glow. of 
light  streamed.  In  that  moment  of  decision  the  convic 
tion  came  to  me  that  I  had  best  do  this  alone;  that  the 
presence  of  the  negro  would  hinder,  rather  than  help  the 
solution  of  the  problem.  I  must  appeal  directly  to  the 
intelligence,  the  courage,  of  those  so  deeply  involved, 
and  trust  my  own  personality  to  win  their  confidence. 
In  this  the  negro  would  be  useless. 

"Pete,"   I    said,   measuring  my   words,   my  plan   of 


90  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

action  shaping  itself  even  as  I  spoke.  "What  lies  in 
there  between  us  and  the  house?" 

"A  truck  patch  mostly,  wid  a  fence  'round  it.  Den 
thar  comes  som'  flower  beds." 

"No  path?" 

"Well,  I  done  reckon  as  how  thar  might  be  a  sorter 
path,  sah,  but  you'd  hardly  find  it  in  de  dark.  De  bes' 
way'd  be  ter  sorter  feel  'long  de  fence,  'til  yer  git  sight 
o'  de  front  porch." 

"All  right,  then.  I  am  going  to  leave  you  here  while 
I  scout  around.  Keep  your  eyes  open,  and  have  the  mule 
ready  to  leave  at  any  minute." 

" 'Bout  how  Ion'  yer  be  gone,  sah?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  that.  As  short  a  time  as  possible. 
It  may  require  considerable  explanation  and  urging  to 
get  those  three  women  to  trust  me.  However,  all  you 
have  to  do  is  wait,  and  be  sure  that  no  one  sees  you.  If 
you  should  be  needed  for  anything  at  the  house,  I'll  get 
word  to  you  some  way;  and  if  I  should  send  Delia  and 
Rene  out  here  alone,  without  being  able  to  come  with 
them  myself,  load  them  into  the  cart  at  once,  and  drive  to 
the  boat.  I'll  manage  to  join  you  somewhere,  and  the 
important  thing  is  to  get  them  safely  away.  You  under 
stand  all  this  ?" 

"Yas,  sah ;  leastways  I  reckon  I  does.  I'se  ter  take  keer 
ob  dem  all,  an'  let  yer  take  keer  o'  yerself." 

"Exactly,  because,  you  see,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea 
what  I  am  going  to  run  up  against.  There  may  be  others 
in  the  house,  and  I  might  not  dare  to  leave  Miss  Eloise 
behind  alone  without  some  protection.  In  a  way  she  is 
in  almost  as  much  danger  as  the  others  if  she  falls  into- 


HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  91 

Kirby's  hands.  I  shall  endeavor  to  induce  her  to  go  to 
Haines  at  once." 

Following  some  impulse  I  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
then  plunged  into  the  darkness,  my  only  guidance  at 
first  that  single  ray  of  light  streaming  through  the  un 
shaded  window.  The  ground  underfoot  was  roughly 
irregular,  cleared  forest  land  evidently,  as  I  occasionally 
stumbled  over  an  unremoved  stump,  although  there  was 
nothing  to  seriously  obstruct  my  passage  until  I  reached 
the  fence  surrounding  the  garden.  By  this  time  the  out 
lines  of  the  house  were  plainly  visible  against  the  skyline 
beyond,  and  I  realized  that  it  was  indeed  quite  a  mansion 
for  that  country,  a  great  square  frame  structure,  two 
full  stories  in  height,  appearing  black  and  deserted,  ex 
cept  for  that  single  window  through  which  the  light  con 
tinued  to  stream.  While  this  window  was  upon  the 
lower  floor,  directly  opposite  where  I  stood,  and  no 
great  distance  away,  it  was  still  sufficiently  elevated  above 
the  ground,  and  obscured  by  a  small  outside  balcony,  so 
as  to  afford  me  no  glimpse  within.  All  I  could  distin 
guish  clearly  was  the  ceiling  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
rather  large  apartment. 

As  I  advanced  cautiously  along  the  fence,  a  low  struc 
ture  built  of  rough  rails,  and  thus  approached  more  closely 
to  the  front  of  the  main  building,  other  lights  began  to 
reveal  themselves,  enabling  me  to  perceive  that  the  inner 
hallway  was  likewise  illuminated,  although  not  bril 
liantly.  These  dim  lights  proved  sufficient,  however,  to 
enable  me  to  trace  the  general  form  of  the  broad  ver 
anda  in  front,  with  its  high  roof  upheld  by  pillars  of 
wood  —  doubtless  giant  forest  trees  —  and  also  the  wide 


92 THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

.wooden  steps  leading  down  to  a  circling  carriage  drive. 
In  spite  of  previous  descriptions  I  had  scarcely  antici 
pated  encountering  so  fine  a  home  in  this  land  which  to 
me  was  wilderness.  The  contrast  of  what  life  had  un 
doubtedly  been  to  its  inmates,  and  what  it  would  now 
become  through  the  medium  of  this  unwelcome  message 
I  bore,  struck  me  with  new  force.  My  mission  became 
instantly  a  hateful  thing,  yet  I  only  set  my  lips  tighter, 
determined  to  end  it  as  quickly  as  possible. 

By  groping  about  with  my  feet  I  succeeded  in  discover 
ing  the  path  of  which  Pete  had  spoken,  and  managed 
with  difficulty  to  follow  it  slowly.  Winding  in  and  out 
amid  shrubbery,  and  what  may  have  been  reserved  for 
flower  beds,  this  ended  at  a  side  door,  which  was  locked. 
Discovering  this  fact,  and  that  it  resisted  all  efforts  at 
opening,  I  turned  once  more  toward  the  front,  and 
advanced  in  that  direction,  securely  hidden  by  the  dense 
shadow  of  the  house.  All  about  me  was  silence,  not  even 
the  sound  of  a  voice  or  the  flap  of  a  wing  breaking  the 
intense  stillness  of  the  night.  I  almost  imagined  I  heard 
the  murmur  of  the  distant  river,  but  this  was  probably  the 
night  breeze  sighing  through  the  tree  branches.  I  came 
below  the  veranda,  still  in  the  deep  shadow,  utterly  un 
conscious  of  any  other  presence,  when  suddenly,  from 
just  above  me,  and  certainly  not  six  feet  distant,  a  man 
spoke  gruffly,  the  unexpected  sound  of  his  strange  voice 
interrupted  by  the  sharp  grate  of  a  chair's  leg  on  the 
porch  floor,  and  a  half -smothered  yawn. 

"Say,  Sheriff,  how  long  are  we  all  goin'  ter  set  yere, 
do  yer  know?  This  don't  look  much  like  Saint  Louee 
afore  daylight  ter  me." 


HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  93 

I  stopped  still,  crouching  low,  my  heart  leaping  into 
my  throat,  and  every  nerve  tingling. 

"No,  it  sure  don't,  Tim,"  replied  another,  and  the  fel 
low  apparently  got  down  from  off  his  perch  on  the  porch 
rail.  "Yer  see  Kirby  is  bound  he'll  get  hold  o'  them  two 
missin'  females  furst,  afore  he'll  let  me^round  up  the  nig- 
gers." 

"But  yer  told  him  yer  wouldn't  round  the  niggers  up, 
an'  stow  'em  away  in  the  boat." 

"Not  till  I  get  service  on  the  young  lady.  It  wouldn't 
do  no  good." 

"Whut's  the  idee?" 

"Damned  if  I  know  exactly.  All  I  know  is  whut  I  kin 
do  accordin'  ter  law,  an'  whut  I  can't.  The  papers  is  all 
straight  'nough,  but  they've  got  ter  be  served  afore  we 
kin  lay  hands  on  a  damned  thing.  The  Jedge  tol'  me  fer 
ter  do  everything  just  as  Kirby  sed,  an'  I  aim  ter  do  it, 
but  just  the  same  I  got  ter  keep  inside  the  law.  I  reckon 
thar's  a  hitch  sumwhar',  but  thet's  none  o'  my  business. 
Kirby  is  liberal  'nough  with  his  money,  an'  I  dunno 
as  it  makes  much  difference  when  we  strike  the  oF 
town." 

"  'Tain't  so  much  that,  Sheriff.  I  kin  stan'  it  fer  ter 
be  up  all  night,  but  Bill  wus  tellin'  me  we  might  hav'  som' 
trouble  down  ter  the  Landin'  unless  we  finished  up  our 
job  yere  afore  mornin'." 

"Oh,  I  reckon  not;  whut  was  it  Bill  said?" 

"Quite  a  rigmarole  frum  furst  ter  last.  Giv'  me  a 
light  fer  the  pipe,  will  yer?" 

There  was  a  flare  above  me,  and  then  darkness  once 
more,  and  then  the  slow  drawl  of  the  man's  voice  as 


94 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

he  resumed.  "Some  feller  by  the  name  ov  McAdoo, 
down  ter  Saint  Louee,  who's  just  com'  down  frum 
the  lead  mines,  tol'  him  thet  Joe  Kirby  got  all  this 
yere  property  in  a  game  o'  kyards  on  the  boat,  an'  thet  it 
wan't  no  square  game  either.  I  didn't  git  it  all  straight, 
I  reckon,  but  accordin'  ter  the  deal  handed  me  thar  wus 
two  dead  men  mixed  up  in  the  affair  —  Beaucaire,  an'  a 
young  army  offercer.  Seems  ter  me  his  name  wus 
Knox." 

"I  didn't  hear  that." 

"Well,  enyhow,  that's  the  way  Bill  told  it.  Beaucaire 
he  naturally  fell  dead  —  heart,  er  som'thin'  —  an'  the 
other  feller,  this  yere  army  man,  he  went  out  on  deck 
fer  ter  see  Kirby,  an'  he  never  cum'  back.  McAdoo 
sorter  reckoned  as  how  likely  he  wus  slugged,  an' 
throwed  overboard.  An'  then,  on  top'  all  that,  we're  sent 
up  yere  in  the  night  like  a  passel  o'  thieves  ter  take  these 
niggers  down  ter  Saint  Louee.  What  do  yer  make  ov 
it,  Jake?" 

"Wai,"  said  the  other  slowly,  his  mouth  evidently 
loaded  with  tobacco.  "I  ain't  never  asked  no  questions 
since  I  wus  made  sheriff.  I'm  doin'  whut  the  court  says. 
Hell !  thar's  trouble  'nough  in  this  job  without  my  but- 
tin'  in  on  other  people's  business.  But  this  is  how  it 
stacks  up  ter  me.  Kirby's  got  the  law  on  his  side  —  no 
doubt  'bout  that  —  but  I  reckon  as  how  he  knows  it  wus 
a  damn  mean  trick,  and  so  he's  sorter  skeered  as  ter  how 
them  fellers  livin'  down  ter  the  Landin'  might  act 
Thar's  a  lawyer  thar  named  Haines,  as  sharp  as  a  steel 
trap,  who  tended  ter  all  the  ol'  Jedge's  business,  an'  Joe 
he  don't  wanter  run  foul  o'  him.  Thet's  why  we  tied  up 


HOME  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  95 

ter  the  shore  below  town,  in  the  mouth  o'  thet  crick,  an' 
then  hed  ter  hoof  it  up  yere  in  the  dark.  Of  course  we 
got  the  law  with  us,  but  we  wanter  pull  this  job  off  an' 
not  stir  up  no  fight — see?" 

"Sure,"  disgustedly.  "I  reckon  I  know  all  that;  I 
heerd  the  Jedge  tell  yer  how  we  wus  ter  do  the  job.  But 
why's  Kirby  in  such  a  sweat  ter  git  all  these  niggers 
down  ter  Saint  Louee  ?" 

"Ter  sell  'em,  an'  git  the  cash.  Onct  they're  outer  the 
way  there  won't  be  no  row.  He'll  let  the  land  yere  lie 
idle  fer  a  year  or  two,  an'  by  that  time  nobody '11  care  a 
whoop  how  he  got  it.  But  he's  got  ter  git  rid  o'  them 
niggers  right  away." 

"Well,  who  the  hell's  goin'  ter  prevent?  They're 
his'n,  ain't  they?  Thar  ain't  no  Black  Abolitionists 
'round  yere,  I  reckon.  I  never  know'd  yer  had  ter  run 
off  your  own  niggers  in  the  night,  so's  ter  sell  'em  down 
South.  My  Gawd,  is  this  yere  Mussury !" 

"Seems  sorter  queer  ter  me,"  admitted  the  sheriff,  "but 
I  did  get  a  little  outer  that  feller  Carver  comin'  up.  He's 
a  close-mouthed  cuss,  an'  didn't  say  much,  but  puttin'  it 
with  what  yer  just  told  me,  I  reckon  I  kin  sorter  figger 
it  out.  Carver  is  som'  sorter  partner  with  Kirby  —  a 
capper  I  reckon — an'  enyhow  he  had  a  hand  in  that 
kayrd  game.  'Tain't  the  niggers  thet  are  makin'  the 
trouble — leastways  not  the  black  'uns.  Nobody's  likely 
ter  row  over  them.  It  seems  that  Beaucaire  kept  a  quad 
roon  housekeeper,  a  slave,  o'  course,  an'  a  while  back  she 
giv'  birth  ter  a  child,  the  father  o'  the  infant  bein'  Judge 
Beaucaire's  son.  Then  the  son  skipped  out,  an'  ain't 
never  bin  heard  frum  since  —  dead  most  likely,  fer  all 


96 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

this  wus  twenty  years  ago.  'Course  the  child,  which  wus 
a  girl,  is  as  white  as  I  am — maybe  more  so.  I  ain't  never 
set  eyes  on  her,  but  Carver  he  says  she's  damn  good 
lookin'.  Enyhow  the  Jedge  he  brought  her  up  like  his 
own  daughter,  sent  her  ter  school  in  Saint  Louee,  an' 
nobody  'round  yere  even  suspected  she  wus  a  nigger.  I 
reckon  she  didn't  know  it  herself." 

"The  hell  you  say." 

"Yes,  but  that  ain't  all  o'  it.  I  don't  know  how  it  hap 
pened —  maybe  he  forgot,  er  put  it  off  too  long,  er 
aimed  ter  git  revenge  —  but,  it  seems,  he  never  executed 
no  paper  freein'  either  her  or  her  mother." 

"Yer  mean  the  girl's  still  a  slave?" 

"Yer  bet !    That's  the  law,  ain't  it  ?" 

"And  Kirby  knew  about  this?" 

"I  reckon  he  did.  I  sorter  judge,  Tim,  frum  \vhut 
Carver  sed,  that  he  wus  more  anxious  fer  ter  git  thet  girl 
than  all  the  rest  o'  the  stuff;  an'  it's  her  he  wants  ter  git 
away  frum  yere  on  the  dead  quiet,  afore  Haines  er  any 
o'  them  others  down  at  the  Landin'  kin  catch  on." 

"They  couldn't  do  nuthin';  if  thar  ain't  no  papers, 
then  she's  his,  accordin'  ter  law.  I've  seen  that  tried 
afore  now." 

"Of  course;  but  what's  the  use  o'  runnin'  eny  risk? 
A  smart  lawyer  like  Haines  could  make  a  hell  ov  a  lot  o' 
trouble  just  the  same,  if  he  took  a  notion.  That's  Kirby 's 
idee  —  ter  cum'  up  yere  in  a  boat,  unbeknownst  to  eny- 
body,  tie  up  down  thar  at  Saunders',  an'  run  the  whole 
bunch  o'  niggers  off  in  the  night.  Then  it's  done  an'  over 
with  afore  the  Landin'  even  wakes  up.  I  reckon  the 
Jedge  told  him  that  wus  the  best  way." 


KijtiE  OF  JUDGE  BEAUCAIRE  97 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  the  first  man  evidently 
turning  the  situation  over  in  his  mind.  The  sheriff  bent 
across  the  rail,  and  spat  into  the  darkness  below. 

"The  joke  of  it  all  is,"  he  continued  with  a  short 
laugh,  as  he  straightened  up,  "this  didn't  exactly  work  out 
'cordin'  ter  schedule.  When  we  dropped  in  yere  we 
rounded  up  the  niggers  all  right,  an'  we  got  the  girl  whar 
there's  no  chance  fer  her  ter  git  away — " 

"Is  that  the  one  back  in  the  house?" 

"I  reckon  so;  leastways  she  tol'  Kirby  her  name  was 
Rene  Beaucaire,  an'  that's  how  it  reads  in  the  papers.  But 
thar  ain't  no  trace  ov  her  mother,  ner  ov  the  Jedge's 
daughter.  They  ain't  in  the  house,  ner  the  nigger  cabins. 
Whar  the  hell  they've  gone,  I  don't  know,  an'  the  girl 
won't  tell.  Leaves  me  in  a  deuce  ov  a  fix,  fer  I  can't 
serve  no  papers  less  we  find  the  daughter.  Her  name's 
Eloise ;  she's  the  heir  et  law,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  legal  right 
fer  ter  take  them  niggers  away  till  I  do.  Looks  ter  me 
like  they'd  skipped  out." 

"Maybe  som'body  blowed  the  whole  thing." 

"I  dunno  who  it  wud  be.  Then  whut  did  they  leave 
thet  girl  behind  fer?  She'd  most  likely  be  the  furst  ter 
run  —  thar's  Kirby  an'  Carver,  a  comin'  now,  an'  they're 
alone;  ain't  got  no  trace  ov  'em,  I  reckon." 

Where  I  crouched  in  the  shadows  I  could  gain  no 
glimpse  of  the  approaching  figures,  but  I  heard  the 
crunch  of  their  boots  on  the  gravel  of  the  driveway,  and 
a  moment  later  the  sound  of  their  feet  as  they  mounted 
the  wooden  steps.  Kirby  must  have  perceived  the  forms 
of  the  other  men  as  soon  as  he  attained  the  porch  level, 
and  his  naturally  disagreeable  voice  had  a  snarly  ring. 


98 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"That  you,  Donaldson?  Have  either  of  those  women 
come  back?" 

"No,"  and  I  thought  the  sheriff's  answer  was  barely 
cordial.  "We  ain't  seen  nobody.  What  did  you  learn 
down  at  the  Landin'  ?" 

"Nothing,"  savagely.  "Haven't  found  a  damn  trace, 
except  that  Haines  hasn't  been  home  since  before  dark; 
some  nigger  came  for  him  then.  Is  that  girl  safe  inside  ?" 

"Sure;  just  as  you  left  her,  but  she  won't  talk.  Tirn 
tried  her  again,  but  it's  no  use;  she  wudn't  even  answer 
him." 

"Well,  by  God !  I'll  find  a  way  to  make  her  open  her 
mouth.  She  knows  where  those  two  are  hiding.  They 
haven't  had  no  time  to  get  far  away,  and  I'll  bring  her  to 
her  senses  before  I  am  through.  Come  on,  Carver;  I'll 
show  the  wench  who's  master  here,  if  I  have  to  lick  her 
like  a  common  nigger." 

The  front  door  opened,  and  closed,  leaving  the  two 
without  standing  in  silence,  the  stillness  between  them 
finally  broken  by  a  muttered  curse. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  GIRL  AT   BAY 

T  DREW  back  hastily,  but  in  silence,  eager  to  get  away 
•*•  before  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  should  return  to 
their  seats  by  the  porch  rail.  My  original  plan  of  warn 
ing  the  women  of  the  house  of  their  peril  was  blocked, 
completely  overturned  by  the  presence  of  these  men.  The 
situation  had  thus  been  rendered  more  complicated,  more 
difficult  to  solve,  and  I  could  only  act  on  impulse,  or  as 
guided  by  these  new  conditions.  Beyond  all  question 
those  I  had  hoped  to  serve  were  already  aware  of  their 
position  —  someone  had  reached  them  before  me  —  and 
two,  at  least,  were  already  in  hiding.  Why  the  third,  the 
one  most  deeply  involved,  had  failed  to  accompany  the 
others,  could  not  be  comprehended.  The  mystery  only 
made  my  present  task  more  difficult.  Could  the  others 
have  fled  and  deliberately  left  her  to  her  fate?  Had 
some  mistake  been  made?  or  had  some  accident  led  to 
their  absence,  and  her  falling  into  the  inhuman  clutches 
of  Kirby?  Why  should  Delia,  the  slave,  disappear  in 
company  with  Eloise,  the  free,  and  leave  her  own  daugh 
ter  Rene  behind  to  face  a  situation  more  terrible  than 
death?  I  could  not  answer  these  questions;  but,  what 
ever  the  cause,  the  result  had  been  the  complete  over 
throw  of  the  gambler's  carefully  prepared  plans.  Not 
that  I  believed  he  would  hesitate  for  long,  law  or  no 
law;  but  Donaldson,  the  sheriff,  refused  to  be  a  party 

99 


100  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  any  openly  illegal  act,  and  this  would  for  the  present 
tie  the  fellow's  hands.  Not  until  Miss  Eloise  was 
found  and  duly  served  with  the  eviction  papers  would 
Donaldson  consent  to  take  possession  of  a  single  slave. 
This  might  still  give  me  time  for  action. 

Kirby,  angry  and  baffled,  could  rave  and  threaten;  but 
to  no  end.  Whether  this  condition  of  affairs  had  been 
attained  as  a  result  of  legal  advice,  or  through  a  mere 
accident,  made  no  difference;  the  present  inability  to 
reach  the  daughter  of  the  Judge  —  the  legal  heiress  to 
his  estate — completely  blocked  the  conspiracy.  Yet 
Kirby  was  not  the  kind  to  surrender  without  a  fight, 
and  a  desperate  one;  all  that  was  savagely  brutal  in  the 
man  had  been  aroused  by  this  check.  The  very  sound  of 
his  voice  indicated  his  intention  —  he  proposed  to  drive, 
with  a  whip  if  necessary,  the  helpless  girl  in  his  power 
to  a  full  confession.  She  was  his  slave,  his  chattel,  and, 
under  the  influence  of  ungoverned  passion,  he  was  capa 
ble  of  any  degree  of  cruelty  to  attain  his  end.  I  knew — • 
seemed  to  realize  —  all  this  in  an  instant,  and  as  swiftly 
decided  to  risk  life  if  need  be  in  her  defense.  There  was 
at  that  moment  no  thought  in  my  mind  of  her  stain  of 
negro  blood;  she  was  not  a  slave  to  me,  but  merely  a 
woman  helpless  and  alone,  fronting  dishonor  and  degra 
dation. 

I  slipped  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  house,  without 
definite  plan  of  action,  but  with  a  firm  purpose  to  act. 
The  side  door  I  knew  to  be  securely  locked,  yet,  first  of 
all,  it  was  essential  that  I  attain  to  the  interior.  But  one 
means  to  this  end  occurred  to  me  —  the  unshaded  win 
dow  through  which  the  glow  of  light  continued  to 


A  GIRL  AT  BAY  101 


stream.  I  found  I  could  reach  the  tdg*:  of  the  balcony 
with  extended  fingers,  and  drew  myself  slowly,  up  i-nti! 
I  clung  to  the  railing,  with  feet  rinding  precarious  sup 
port  on  the  outer  rim.  This  was  accomplished  noise 
lessly,  and,  from  the  vantage  point  thus  obtained,  I  was 
enabled  to  survey  a  large  portion  of  the  room.  The 
illumination  came  from  a  chandelier  pendent  from  the 
center  of  the  high  ceiling,  but  only  one  lamp  had  been 
lighted,  and  the  apartment  was  so  large  that  both  ends 
and  sides  remained  in  partial  shadow.  It  might  have 
been  orginally  intended  as  either  a  sitting  room  or 
library,  for  there  were  bookcases  against  the  walls,  and  a 
large  writing  table,  holding  books  and  writing  material, 
stood  directly  beneath  the  chandelier,  while  on  the  sofa 
in  one  corner  reposed  a  bit  of  women's  sewing,  where  it 
had  apparently  been  hastily  dropped.  A  fireplace,  black 
and  gloomy,  evidently  unused  for  some  time,  yawned 
in  a  side  wall,  and  above  it  hung  a  rifle  and  powder  horn. 

I  clambered  over  the  rail,  assured  by  this  first  glance 
that  the  room  was  empty,  and  succeeded  in  lifting  the 
heavy  sash  a  few  inches  without  any  disturbing  noise. 
Then  it  stuck,  and,  even  as  I  ventured  to  exert  my 
strength  to  greater  extent  to  force  it  upward,  the  single 
door  directly  opposite,  evidently  leading  into  the  hall,  was 
flung  violently  open,  and  I  sank  back  out  of  view,  yet 
instantly  aware  that  the  first  party  to  enter  was  Joe 
Kirby. 

Without  venturing  to  lift  my  eyes  to  the  level  of  the 
opening,  I  could  nevertheless  imagine  his  movements, 
while  the  sound  of  his  voice  when  he  spoke  was  as  dis 
tinct  as  though  I  stood  beside  him.  He  strode  forward 


102  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  the  table,  striking  the  wooden  top  angrily  with  his  fist, 
and. knocking  something  crashing  to  the  floor. 

"You  know  where  she  is,  don't  you?"  he  asked,  in  the 
same  threatening  tone  he  had  used  without. 

"Of  course  I  do;  didn't  I  help  put  her  there?"  It  was 
Carver  who  replied,  standing  in  the  open  doorway. 

"Then  bring  the  hussy  in  here.  By  God !  I'll  make  the 
wench  talk,  if  I  have  to  choke  it  out  of  her;  she'll  learn 
what  it  means  to  be  a  nigger." 

The  door  closed,  and  Kirby  strode  across  to  the  fire 
place,  muttering  to  himself,  and  stood  there,  an  arm  on 
the  mantel,  nervously  stirring  up  the  dead  ashes  with 
one  foot.  Plainly  enough  the  events  of  the  night  had 
overcome  all  his  boasted  self-control,  his  gambler's  cool 
ness,  and  the  real  underlying  brutality  of  his  nature  de 
manded  expression.  He  yearned  to  crush,  and  hurt 
something — something  that  would  cringe  before  him. 
I  ventured  to  raise  my  head  cautiously,  so  as  to  gain  a 
glimpse  of  the  man,  and  was  surprised  to  note  the  change 
in  his  face.  It  was  as  though  he  had  removed  a  mask. 
Heretofore,  always  holding  the  winning  hand,  and  able 
to  sneer  at  opposition,  he  had  always  in  my  presence 
assumed  an  air  of  cold  bravado,  insolent  and  sarcastic; 
but  now,  baffled  in  his  plans,  checkmated  by  a  girl,  and 
believing  himself  unobserved,  the  gambler  had  given 
way  to  his  true  nature,  both  expression  and  manner  ex 
hibiting  a  temper  beyond  control. 

I  had  but  a  moment  in  which  to  observe  this  new 
exhibit  of  the  man's  personality,  for  almost  immediately 
Carver  flung  the  door  of  the  room  open,  and  Kirby 
swung  impatiently  about  to  face  the  entrance.  Except 


A  GIRL  AT  BAY 103 

for  a  possibility  of  thus  attracting  the  attention  of  the 
newcomer,  I  was  in  no  special  danger  of  being  detected 
by  those  within.  Nevertheless  I  sank  lower,  with  eyes 
barely  above  the  edge  of  the  sill,  eager  to  witness  this 
meeting,  and  especially  interested  in  gaining  a  first  view 
of  their  prisoner.  Carver  thrust  her  forward,  but  re 
mained  himself  blocking  the  doorway.  I  use  the  word 
thrust,  for  I  noted  the  grip  of  his  hand  on  her  arm,  yet 
in  truth  she  instantly  stepped  forward  herself,  her  bear 
ing  in  no  way  devoid  of  pride  and  dignity,  her  head  held 
erect,  her  eyes  fearlessly  seeking  the  face  of  Kirby.  Their 
glances  met,  and  she  advanced  to  the  table,  the  light  of 
the  swinging  lamp  full  upon  her.  The  impression  she 
made  is  with  me  yet.  Hers  was  a  refined,  patrician  face, 
crowned  by  a  wealth  of  dark  hair.  Indignant  eyes  of 
hazel  brown,  shadowed  by  long  lashes,  brightened  a  face 
whitened  by  intense  emotion,  and  brought  into  agreeable 
contrast  flushed  cheeks,  and  red,  scornful  lips.  A  dimpled 
chin,  a  round,  full  throat,  and  the  figure  of  young  woman 
hood,  slender  and  yet  softly  curved,  altogether  formed  a 
picture  so  entrancing  as  to  never  again  desert  my  imagi 
nation.  With  one  bound  my  heart  went  out  to  her  in 
sympathy,  in  admiration,  in  full  and  complete  surren 
der.  Yet,  even  in  that  instant,  the  knowledge  of  the 
truth,  in  all  its  unspeakable  horror,  assailed  me  —  this 
girl,  this  proud,  beautiful  girl,  was  a  slave;  within  her 
veins  a  cursed  drop  of  negro  blood  stained  her  with  dis 
honor,  made  of  her  a  chattel ;  and  the  sneering  brute  she 
faced  was  by  law  her  master.  My  hands  clinched  in  the 
agony  of  the  thought,  the  knowledge  of  my  own  im 
potence.  Yet  all  this  was  but  the  flash  of  an  instant.  Be- 


104  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

fore  I  could  change  posture,  almost  before  I  could  draw 
fresh  breath,  her  voice,  trembling  slightly  with  an  emo 
tion  she  was  unable  wholly  to  suppress,  yet  sounding 
clear  as  a  bell,  addressed  the  man  confronting  her. 

"May  I  ask,  sir,  what  this  outrage  means  ?  I  presume 
you  are  responsible  for  the  insolence  of  this  fellow  who 
brought  me  here?" 

Kirby  laughed,  but  not  altogether  at  ease. 

"Well,  not  altogether/7  he  answered,  "as  his  methods 
are  entirely  his  own.  I  merely  told  him  to  go  after  you." 

"For  what  purpose  ?" 

"So  pretty  a  girl  should  not  ask  that.  Carver,  close 
the  door,  and  wait  outside." 

I  could  mark  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom, 
and  the  look  of  fear  she  was  unable  fc>  disguise.  Yet  not 
a  limb  moved  as  the  door  closed,  nor  did  the  glance  of 
those  brown  eyes  waver. 

"You  are  not  the  same  man  I  met  here  before,"  she  be 
gan  doubtfully.  "He  said  he  was  connected  with  the 
sheriff's  office.  Who  are  you  ?" 

"My  name  is  Kirby;  the  sheriff  is  here  under  my 
orders." 

-Kirby!— the— the  gambler?" 

"Well  I  play  cards  occasionally,  and  you  have  prob 
ably  heard  of  me  before.  Even  if  you  never  had  until 
tonight,  it  is  pretty  safe  to  bet  that  you  do  now.  Don 
aldson,  or  his  man,  told  you,  so  there  is  no  use  of  my 
mincing  matters  any,  nor  of  your  pretence  at  ignorance." 

"I  know,"  she  admitted,  "that  you  won  this  property 
at  cards,  and  have  now  come  to  take  possession.  Is  that 
what  you  mean?" 


A  GIRL  AT  BAY  105 


"That,  at  least,  is  part  of  it,"  and  he  took  a  step  toward 
her,  his  thin  lips  twisted  into  a  smile.  "But  not  all.  Per 
haps  Donaldson  failed  to  tell  you  the  rest,  and  left  me 
to  break  the  news.  Well,  it  won't  hurt  me  any.  Not 
only  this  plantation  is  mine,  but  every  nigger  on  it  as 
well.  You  are  Rene  Beaucaire?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  slowly,  almost  under  her  breath, 
and  hesitating  ever  so  slightly,  "I  am  Rene  Beaucaire." 

"And  you  don't  know  what  that  means,  I  suppose  ?"  he 
insisted,  savagely,  angered  by  her  coolness.  "Perhaps 
the  sheriff  did  not  explain  this.  Yet,  by  God !  I  believe 
you  do  know.  Someone  spread  the  word  before  we  ever 
got  up  here  —  that  damn  lawyer  Haines  likely  enough. 
That  is  why  the  others  have  disappeared ;  why  they  have 
hidden  themselves  away.  Who  was  it  ?" 

"I  cannot  answer." 

"Oh,  I  reckon  you  can.  WThy  did  they  run  off  and 
leave  you  here?" 

"I  cannot  answer." 

"Damn  you,  stop  that!  Don't  try  any  of  your  fine 
airs  on  me.  Do  you  know  who  and  what  you  are  ?" 

She  rested  one  hand  on  the  table  in  support,  and  I 
could  note  the  nervous  trembling  of  the  fingers,  yet  her 
low  voice  remained  strangely  firm. 

"I  know,"  she  said  distinctly,  "I  am  no  longer  a  free 
white  woman;  I  am  a  negro,  and  a  slave." 

"Oh,  so  you  know  that,  do  you  ?  Then  you  must  also 
be  aware  that  you  are  my  property.  Perhaps  it  will  be 
well  for  you  to  remember  this  in  answering  my  ques 
tions.  Now  tell  me  who  informed  you  of  all  this?" 

"I  cannot  answer." 


106  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Cannot!  You  mean  you  will  not.  Well,  young 
woman,  I'll  find  means  to  make  you,  for  I  have  handled 
your  kind  before.  Drop  this  dignity  business,  and  re 
member  you  are  a  slave,  talking  to  your  master.  It  will 
be  better  for  you,  if  you  do.  Where  is  Eloise  Beau- 
caire?" 

"Why  do  you  seek  to  find  her  ?  There  is  no  slave  blood 
in  her  veins." 

"To  serve  the  necessary  papers,  of  course." 

He  spoke  incautiously,  urged  on  by  his  temper,  and  I 
marked  how  quickly  her  face  brightened  at  this  intelli 
gence. 

"To  serve  papers!  They  must  be  served  then  before 
—  before  you  can  take  possession?  That  is  what  I  un 
derstood  the  sheriff  to  say." 

"Why,  of  course  —  the  law  requires  that  form." 

"Then  I  am  not  really  your  slave  —  yet?"  her  voice 
deepening  with  earnestness  and  understanding.  "Oh,  so 
that  is  how  it  is  —  even  if  I  am  a  negro,  I  do  not  belong 
to  you  until  those  papers  have  been  served.  If  you 
touch  me  now  you  break  the  law.  I  may  not  be  free,  but 
I  am  free  from  you.  Good  God !  but  I  am  glad  to  know 
that !" 

"And  damn  little  good  it  is  going  to  do  you,"  he 
growled.  "I  was  a  fool  to  let  you  know  that;  but  just 
the  same  you  are  here  in  my  power,  and  I  care  mighty 
little  what  the  law  says.  Sheriff,  or  no  sheriff,  my 
beauty,  you  are  going  to  St.  Louis  with  rrte  tonight ;  so  I 
advise  you  to  keep  a  grip  on  that  tongue  of  yours.  Do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  be  foiled  altogether  by  a  techni 
cal  point  of  law?  Then,  by  God!  you  don't  know  Joe 


A  GIRL  AT  BAY 107 

Kirby.  Possession  is  the  main  thing,  and  I  have  you 
where  you  can't  get  away.  You  hear  me?" 

She  had  not  moved,  although  her  form  had  straight 
ened,  and  her  hand  no  longer  rested  on  the  table.  Kirby 
had  stepped  close  in  front  of  her,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
anger,  his  evident  intention  being  to  thus  frighten  the 
girl  into  compliance  with  his  wishes,  but  her  eyes,  defiant 
and  unafraid,  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face. 

"I  certainly  hear,"  she  replied  calmly.  "Your  voice  is 
sufficiently  distinct.  I  am  a  slave,  I  suppose,  and  in  your 
power;  but  I  despise  you,  hate  you  —  and  you  are  not 
going  to  take  me  to  St.  Louis  tonight." 

"What  can  stop  me?" 

"That  I  am  not  obliged  to  tell  you,  sir." 

"But  what  will  prevent?  The  sheriff?  Puh!  a  few 
dollars  will  take  care  of  him.  The  Judge  is  a  friend  of 
mine." 

"It  is  not  the  sheriff  —  nor  the  Judge;  I  place  reliance 
on  no  friend  of  yours." 

He  grasped  at  her  arm,  but  she  stepped  back  quickly 
enough  to  avoid  contact,  and  the  red  lips  were  pressed  to 
gether  in  a  thin  line  of  determination.  Kirby  could  not 
have  seen  what  I  did,  or  if  he  did  see,  failed  to  attach  the 
same  significance  to  the  action.  Her  hand  had  suddenly 
disappeared  within  the  folds  of  her  skirt;  but  the  angry 
man,  apparently  blinded  by  the  violence  of  his  passion, 
his  eagerness  to  crush  her  spirit,  thought  only  that  she 
counted  on  outside  aid  for  deliverance. 

"You  silly  little  fool,"  he  snapped,  his  moustache  brist 
ling.  "Why,  what  could  you  do  to  stop  me?  I  could 
break  your  neck  with  one  hand.  So  you  imagine  some- 


103  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

one  is  going  to  save  you.  Well,  who  will  it  be  ?  Those 
yokels  down  at  the  Landing?  Haines,  the  lawyer?  You 
have  a  surprise  up  your  sleeve  for  me,  I  suppose !  Hell ! 
it  makes  me  laugh ;  but  you  might  as  well  have  your  les 
son  now,  as  any  other  time.  Come  here,  you  wench !" 

He  caught  her  arm  this  time,  brutally  jerking  her 
toward  him,  but  as  instantly  staggered  backward,  grasp 
ing  at  the  table,  the  flash  of  anger  in  his  eyes  changing  to 
a  look  of  startled  surprise.  A  pistol  was  leveled  full  in 
his  face,  the  polished  black  barrel  shining  ominously  in 
the  light  of  the  overhead  lamp. 

"Now  perhaps  you  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said.  "If 
you  dare  to  touch  me  I  will  kill  you  like  a  dog.  That  is 
no  threat;  it  is  true  as  God's  gospel,"  and  the  very  tone 
of  her  voice  carried  conviction.  "You  say  I  am  a  slave 

—  your  slave!    That  may  be  so,  but  you  will  never  pos 
sess  me  —  never!    Life  means  nothing  to  me  any  more, 
and  I  never  expect  to  go  out  of  this  house  alive;  I  do 
not  even  care  to.     So  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.     Do  you 
know  why?    Probably  not,  for  men  of  your  kind  would 
be  unable  to  understand.     It  is  because  I  would  rather 
die  than  have  your  dirty  hand  touch  me  —  a  thousand 
times  rather.    Do  not  drop  your  arms,  you  low-lived  cur, 
for  you  have  never  been  nearer  death  in  all  your  misera 
ble  life  than  you  are  now.     God  knows  I  want  to  kill 
you;  it  is  the  one  desire  of  my  heart  at  this  moment  to 
rid  the  earth  of  such  a  beast.    But  I'll  give  you  one  chance 

—  just  one.    Don't  you  dare  call  out,  or  answer  me.    Do 
what  I  say.     Now  step  back  —  back  along  the  table; 
that's  it,  a  step  at  a  time.  Oh,  I  knew  you  were  a  cowardly 
bully.     Go  en  —  yes,  clear  to  that  window;  don't  lower 


A  GIRL  AT  BAY  109 

those  hands  an  inch  until  I  say  you  may.  I  am  a  slave 
—  yes,  but  I  am  also  a  Beaucaire.  Now  reach  behind 
you,  and  pull  up  the  sash  —  pull  it  up  higher  than  that." 
Her  eyes  dilated  with  sudden  astonishment  and  terror. 
She  had  caught  sight  of  me,  emerging  from  the  black 
shadow  just  behind  her  victim.  Kirby  also  perceived  the 
quick  change  in  the  face  fronting  him,  read  its  expression 
of  fright,  and  sought  to  twist  his  head  so  as  to  learn  the 
truth.  Yet  before  he  could  accomplish  this,  or  his  lips 
could  give  utterance  to  a  sound,  my  hands  closed  on  his 
throat,  crushing  him  down  to  the  sill,  and  throttling  him 
into  silence  between  the  vise  of  my  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XI 
TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER" 

T  T  PROVED  to  be  a  short,  sharp  struggle,  from  the 
"*•  first  the  advantage  altogether  with  me.  Kirby, 
jerked  from  off  his  feet  from  behind,  his  head  forced 
down  against  the  wooden  sill,  with  throat  gripped  re 
morselessly  in  my  clutch,  could  give  utterance  to  no  out 
cry,  nor  effectively  exert  his  strength  to  break  free.  I 
throttled  the  very  breath  out  of  him,  knowing  that  I  must 
conquer  then  and  there,  silently,  and  with  no  thought  of 
mercy.  I  was  battling  for  her  life,  and  my  own.  This 
was  no  time  for  compassion,  nor  had  I  the  slightest  wish 
to  spare  the  man.  With  all  the  oldtime  dislike  in  my 
heart,  all  the  hatred  aroused  by  what  I  had  overheard,  I 
closed  down  on  his  throat,  rejoicing  to  see  the  purple  of 
his  flesh  turn  into  a  sickening  black,  as  he  fought  des 
perately  for  breath,  and  as  he  lost  consciousness,  and 
ceased  from  struggle.  I  was  conscious  of  a  pang  in  my 
wounded  shoulder,  yet  it  seemed  to  rob  me  of  no  strength, 
but  only  added  to  my  ferocity.  The  fellow  rested  limp 
in  my  hands.  I  believed  I  had  killed  him,  and  the  be 
lief  was  a  joy,  as  I  tossed  the  helpless  body  aside  on  the 
floor,  and  stepped  through  the  open  window  into  the 
room.  Dead !  he  was  better  off  dead. 

I  stood  above  him,  staring  down  into  the  upturned 
face.  It  was  breathless,  mottled,  hideously  ugly,  to  all 
appearances  the  face  of  a  dead  man,  but  it  brought  to  me 

110 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER" 111 

no  sense  of  remorse.  The  cur  —  "the  unspeakable  cur." 
In  my  heart  I  hoped  he  was  dead,  and  in  a  sudden  feel 
ing  of  utter  contempt,  I  struck  the  inert  body  with  my 
foot.  Then,  as  my  eyes  lifted,  they  encountered  those  of 
the  girl.  She  had  drawn  back  to  the  table,  startled  out 
of  all  reserve  by  this  sudden  apparition,  unable  to  com 
prehend.  Doubt,  questioning,  fright  found  expression  in 
her  face.  The  pistol  yet  remained  clasped  in  her  hand, 
while  she  stared  at  me  as  though  a  ghost  confronted 
her. 

"Who  —  who  are  you?"  she  managed  to  gasp,  in  a 
voice  which  barely  reached  my  ears.  "My  God!  who  — 
who  sent  you  here  ?" 

"It  must  have  been  God,"  I  answered,  realizing 
instantly  that  I  needed  to  make  all  clear  in  a  word.  "I 
came  only  to  help  you,  and  was  just  in  time  —  no  doubt 
God  sent  me." 

"To  help  me  ?  You  came  here  to  help  me  ?  But  how 
could  that  be?  I  —  I  never  saw  you  before  —  who  are 
you?" 

I  stood  straight  before  her,  my  eyes  meeting  her  own 
frankly.  I  had  forgotten  the  dead  body  at  my  feet,  the 
incidents  of  struggle,  the  pain  of  my  own  wound,  com 
prehending  only  the  supreme  importance  of  compelling 
her  to  grasp  the  truth. 

"There  is  no  time  now  to  explain  all  this,  Miss  Rene. 
;You  must  accept  the  bare  facts  —  will  you?" 

"Yes  —  I  —  I  suppose  I  must." 

"Then  listen,  for  you  must  know  that  every  moment 
we  waste  here  in  talk  only  makes  escape  more  difficult. 
I  tell  you  the  simple  truth.  I  am  Steven  Knox,  an  officer 


112  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

in  the  army.  It  chanced  I  was  a  passenger  on  the  boat 
when  Judge  Beaucaire  lost  his  life.  I  witnessed  the  game 
of  cards  this  man  won,  and  afterwards,  when  I  protested, 
was  attacked,  and  flung  overboard  into  the  river  by  Kirby 
here,  and  that  fellow  who  is  outside  guarding  the  door. 
They  believe  me  to  be  dead;  but  I  managed  to  reach 
shore,  and  was  taken  care  of  by  a  negro  —  Tree  Pete' 
he  calls  himself;  do  you  know  him?" 

"Yes  —  oh,  yes;  he  was  one  of  the  Carlton  slaves." 
Her  face  brightened  slightly  in  its  bewilderment. 

"Well,  I  knew  enough  of  what  was  bound  to  occur  to 
feel  an  interest,  and  tonight  he  brought  me  here  for  the 
purpose  of  warning  you  —  you,  your  mother,  and  Eloise 
Beaucaire.  He  has  his  cart  and  mule  out  yonder;  we 
intended  to  transport  you  across  the  river,  and  thus  start 
you  safely  on  the  way  to  Canada." 

"Then,"  she  said  slowly,  seeming  to  catch  at  her  breath, 
her  voice  trembling,  "then  it  must  be  really  true  what 
these  men  say  —  Delia  is  my  mother?  I  —  I  am  a 
slave?" 

"You  did  not  really  know.  You  were  not  warned  by 
anyone  before  their  arrival?" 

"No,  there  was  no  warning.  Did  anyone  in  this  neigh 
borhood  understand?" 

"Haines  the  lawyer  did.  He  furnished  me  with  much 
of  the  information  I  possess.  But  I  am  the  one  puzzled 
now.  If  the  truth  was  not  known  to  any  of  you,  how 
does  it  happen  the  others  are  gone?" 

"So  far  as  I  am  aware  that  is  merely  an  accident.  They 
walked  over  to  the  old  Carlton  place  early  this  evening; 
there  is  sickness  in  the  family,  and  they  hoped  to  be  of 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER" 113 

help.  That  is  everything  I  know.  They  were  to  return 
two  hours  ago,  for  I  was  here  all  alone,  except  for  the 
negroes  in  their  quarters.  I  cannot  conceive  what  has 
occurred  —  unless  they  have  learned  in  some  way  of  the 
trouble  here." 

"That  must  be  the  explanation;  they  have  hidden  them 
selves.  And  these  men  told  you  why  they  came?" 

"The  only  one  I  saw  at  first  did.  He  came  in  all 
alone  and  claimed  to  be  a  deputy  sheriff.  I  was  terribly 
frightened  at  first,  and  did  not  at  all  understand;  but  I 
questioned  him  and  the  man  liked  to  talk.  So  he  told  me 
all  he  knew.  Perhaps  I  should  have  thought  he  was 
crazy,  only — only  some  things  had  occurred  of  late 
which  led  me  to  half  suspect  the  truth  before.  I  —  I 
wouldn't  believe  it  then,  but  —  but  I  made  him  repeat 
everything  he  had  heard.  Horrible  as  it  was,  I  —  I 
wanted  to  know  all." 

"And  you  acknowledged  to  him  that  you  were  Rene 
Beaucaire  ?" 

Her  dark  eyes  flashed  up  into  my  face  questioningly. 

"Why  —  why,  of  course.  I  —  I  could  not  deny  that, 
could  I?" 

"Perhaps  not;  yet  if  none  of  them  knew  you,  and  you 
had  claimed  to  be  Eloise,  they  would  never  have  dared 
to  hold  you  prisoner." 

"I  never  once  thought  of  that;  the  only  thing  which 
occurred  to  me  was  how  I  could  best  protect  the  others. 
My  plan  was  to  send  them  warning  in  some  way.  Still, 
now  I  am  very  glad  I  said  I  was  Rene." 

"Glad!  why?" 

"Because  it  seems  it  is  Eloise  they  must  find  to  serve 


114  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

their  papers  on.  They  dare  not  take  away  the  slaves 
until  this  is  done.  As  for  me,  I  am  nothing  —  nothing 
but  a  slave  myself;  is  that  not  true?" 

To  look  into  her  eyes,  her  face,  and  answer  was  a  hard 
task,  yet  one  I  saw  no  way  to  evade. 

"Yes ;  I  am  afraid  it  is  true." 

"And  —  and  then  Delia,  the  housekeeper,  is  actually 
my  mother?" 

"That  is  the  story,  as  it  has  reached  me." 

She  held  tightly  to  the  table  for  support,  all  the  fresh 
color  deserting  her  face,  but  the  lips  were  firmly  set  and 
her  head  remained  as  proudly  poised  as  ever  above  the 
round  throat.  Whatever  might  be  the  stain  of  alien 
blood  in  her  veins,  she  was  still  a  Beaucaire.  Her 
eyes,  filled  with  pain  as  they  were,  met  mine  unflinch 
ingly. 

"And  —  and  knowing  all  this,  convinced  of  its  truth  — 
that  —  that  I  am  colored,"  she  faltered,  doubtfully. 
"You  came  here  to  help  me?" 

"I  did;  that  can  make  no  difference  now." 

"No  difference!  Why  do  you  say  that?  Are  you 
from  the  North,  an  Abolitionist?" 

"No;  at  least  I  have  never  been  called  one  or  so 
thought  of  myself.  I  have  never  believed  in  slavery, 
yet  I  wras  born  in  a  southern  state.  In  this  case  I  merely 
look  upon  you  as  a  woman  —  as  one  of  my  own  class. 
It  —  it  does  not  seem  as  though  I  could  ever  consider 
you  in  any  other  way.  You  must  believe  this." 

"Believe  it!  Why  you  and  I  are  caught  in  the  same 
net.  I  am  a  slave  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder;  and 
you  —  you  have  killed  a  man  to  save  me.  Even  if  I  was 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER" 115 

willing  to  remain  and  face  my  fate,  I  could  not  now,  for 
that  would  mean  you  must  suffer.  And  —  and  you  have 
done  this  for  me." 

My  eyes  dropped  to  the  upturned  face  of  Kirby  on 
which  the  rays  of  light  rested.  The  flesh  was  no  longer 
black  and  horrid,  yet  remained  ghastly  enough  to 
increase  my  belief  that  the  man  was  actually  dead  —  had 
perished  under  my  hand.  He  was  not  a  pleasant  sight 
to  contemplate,  flung  as  he  had  been  in  a  shapeless  heap, 
and  the  sight  brought  home  to  me  anew  the  necessity  of 
escape  before  those  others  of  his  party  could  learn  what 
had  occurred. 

"From  whatever  reason  the  deed  was  done,"  I  said, 
steadying  my  voice,  "we  must  now  face  the  consequences. 
As  you  say,  it  is  true  we  both  alike  have  reason  to  fear 
the  law  if  caught.  Flight  is  our  only  recourse.  Will 
you  go  with  me  ?  Will  you  trust  me  ?" 

"Go  —  go  with  you  ?    Where  ?" 

"First  across  the  river  into  Illinois;  there  is  no  possible 
safety  here.  Once  over  yonder  we  shall,  at  least,  have 
time  in  which  to  think  out  the  proper  course,  to  plan  what 
shall  be  best  to  do.  In  a  way  your  danger  is  even  more 
serious  than  mine.  I  have  not  been  seen — even  Kirby 
had  no  glimpse  of  my  face  —  and  might  never  be  identi 
fied  with  the  death  of  this  man.  But  you  will  become  a 
fugitive  slave  and  could  be  hunted  down  anywhere  this 
side  of  Canada." 

"Then  being  with  me  would  add  to  your  danger." 

"Whether  it  will  or  not  counts  nothing;  I  shall  never 
let  you  go  alone." 

She   pressed   the   palms   of   both   her   hands    against 


116  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

her  forehead  as  though  in  a  motion  of  utter  bewilder 
ment. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  seem  to  realize,"  she  exclaimed.  "Every 
thing  is  like  a  dream  to  me  —  impossible  in  its  horror. 
This  situation  is  so  terrible;  it  has  come  upon  me  so 
suddenly,  I  cannot  decide,  I  cannot  even  comprehend 
what  my  duty  is.  You  urge  me  to  go  away  with  you  — 
alone?" 

"I  do;  there  is  no  other  way  left.  You  cannot  remain 
here  in  the  hands  of  these  men;  the  result  of  such  a 
step  is  too  terrible  to  even  contemplate.  There  are  no 
means  of  determining  where  the  others  are  —  Delia  and 
Miss  Eloise.  Perhaps  they  have  had  warning  and  fled 
already,"  I  urged,  desperately. 

Her  eyes  were  staring  down  at  Kirby's  body. 

"Look,  he  —  he  is  not  dead,"  she  sobbed,  excitedly. 
"Did  you  see  then,  one  of  his  limbs  moved,  and  —  and 
why  he  is  beginning  to  gasp  for  breath." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  we  should  decide  at  once. 
If  the  fellow  regains  consciousness  and  lives,  our  danger 
will  be  all  the  greater." 

"Yes,  he  would  be  merciless,"  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 
eloquent  of  disgust  and  horror  as  she  suddenly  lifted 
them  to  my  face.  "I  —  I  must  not  forget  that  I  —  I 
belong  to  him;  I  am  his  slave;  he  —  he,  that  hideous 
thing  there,  can  do  anything  he  wishes  with  me  —  the 
law  says  he  can."  The  indignant  color  mounted  into  her 
face.  "He  can  sell  me,  or  use  me,  or  rent  me;  I  am  his 
chattel.  Good  God!  think  of  it!  Why,  I  am  as  white 
as  he  is,  better  educated,  accustomed  to  every  care, 
brought  up  to  believe  myself  rich  and  happy  —  and  now 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER"  117 

I  belong  to  him;  he  owns  me,  body  and  soul."  She 
paused  suddenly,  assailed  by  a  new  thought,  a  fresh 
consideration. 

"Do  you  know  the  law  ?" 

"I  am  no  expert;  what  is  it  you  would  ask?'5 

"The  truth  of  what  they  have  told  me.  Is  it  so,  is  it 
the  law  that  these  men  can  take  possession  of  nothing 
here  until  after  Eloise  has  been  found  and  their  papers 
served  upon  her?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  it  is/'  I  said.  "She  is  the  legal  heiress 
of  Judge  Beaucaire;  the  estate  is  hers  by  inheritance, 
as,  I  am  told,  there  was  no  will.  All  this  property,  includ 
ing  the  slaves,  would  legally  remain  in  her  possession 
until  proper  steps  had  been  taken  by  others.  Sen- ing  of 
the  papers  would  be  necessary.  There  is  no  doubt  as  to 
that  —  although,  probably,  after  a  certain  length  of  time, 
the  court  might  presume  her  dead  and  take  other  action 
to  settle  the  estate." 

"But  not  for  several  years?" 

"No;  I  think  I  have  heard  how  many,  but  have  for 
gotten." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  stepped  toward  me,  gazing 
straight  into  my  face. 

"'I  believe  in  you,"  she  said  firmly.  "And  I  trust  you. 
You  look  like  a  real  man.  You  tell  me  you  serve  in  the 
army  —  an  officer?" 

"A  lieutenant  of  infantry." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  my  own  closed  over  it,  the 
firm,  warm  clasp  of  her  fingers  sending  a  strange  thrill 
through  my  whole  body.  An  instant  she  looked  directly 
into  my  eyes,  down  into  the  very  soul  of  me,  and  what  I 


118  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

read  in  the  depths  of  her  brown  orbs  could  never  find 
expression  in  words.  I  have  thought  of  it  often  since  — 
that  great,  dimly-lighted  room,  with  the  guard  at  the 
outer  door;  the  inert,  almost  lifeless  body  huddled  on  the 
floor  beside  us,  and  Rene  Beaucaire,  her  hand  clasped  in 
mine. 

"Lieutenant  Knox,"  she  said  softly,  yet  with  a  note 
of  confidence  in  the  low  voice,  "no  woman  was  ever 
called  upon  to  make  a  more  important  choice  than  this. 
Although  I  am  a  slave,  now  I  am  free  to  choose.  I  am 
going  to  trust  you  absolutely;  there  are  reasons  why  I 
so  decide  which  I  cannot  explain  at  this  time.  I  have  not 
known  you  long  enough  to  venture  that  far.  Yon  must 
accept  me  just  as  I  am  —  a  runaway  slave  and  a  negress, 
but  also  a  woman.  Can  you  pledge  such  as  I  your  word 
of  honor  —  the  word  of  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman?" 

"I  pledge  it  to  you,  Rene  Beaucaire,"  I  answered 
soberly. 

"And  I  accept  the  pledge  in  all  faith.  From  now  on, 
\vhatever  you  say  I  will  do." 

I  had  but  one  immediate  purpose  in  my  mind  —  to 
escape  from  the  house  as  quickly  as  possible,  to  attain 
Pete's  cart  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  be  several  miles 
up  the  river,  hidden  away  in  some  covert  before  daylight, 
leaving  no  trail  behind.  The  first  part  of  this  hasty  pro 
gram  would  have  to  be  carried  out  instantly,  for  any 
moment  a  suspicion  might  cause  Carver  to  throw  open 
the  door  leading  into  the  hallway  and  expose  our  posi 
tion.  Kirby  was  already  showing  unmistakable  symp 
toms  of  recovery,  while  those  other  men  idling  on  the 
front  porch  might  begin  to  wonder  what  was  going  on 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER"  119 

so  long  inside  and  proceed  to  investigate.  By  this  time 
they  must  be  nervously  anxious  to  get  away.  Besides, 
it  would  prove  decidedly  to  our  advantage  if  I  was  not 
seen  or  recognized.  The  very  mystery,  the  bewilderment 
as  to  who  had  so  viciously  attacked  the  gambler  and  then 
spirited  away  the  girl,  would  serve  to  facilitate  our 
escape.  Theories  as  to  how  it  had  been  accomplished 
would  be  endless  and  the  pursuit  delayed. 

I  stooped  and  removed  a  pistol  from  Kirby's  pocket, 
dropping  it,  together  with  such  ammunition  as  I  could 
find,  into  one  of  my  own.  The  man  by  this  time  was 
breathing  heavily,  although  his  eyes  remained  closed, 
and  he  still  lay  exactly  as  he  had  fallen. 

"Keep  your  own  weapon,"  I  commanded  her.  "Hide 
it  away  in  your  dress.  Now  come  with  me." 

She  obeyed,  uttering  no  word  of  objection,  and  step 
ping  after  me  through  the  open  window  onto  the  narrow 
balcony  without.  I  reached  up  and  drew  down  the 
shade,  leaving  us  in  comparative  darkness.  The  night 
was  soundless  and  our  eyes,  straining  to  pierce  the  black 
void,  were  unable  to  detect  any  movement. 

"You  see  nothing?"  I  whispered,  touching  her  hand 
in  encouragement.  "No  evidence  of  a  guard  anywhere?" 

"No  —  the  others  must  still  be  out  in  front  waiting." 

"There  were  only  the  four  of  them  then?" 

"So  I  understood.  I  was  told  they  came  up  the  river 
in  a  small  keel-boat,  operated  by  an  engine,  and  that  they 
anticipated  no  resistance.  The  engineer  was  left  to  watch 
the  boat  and  be  ready  to  depart  down  stream  at  any 
moment." 

"Good;  that  leaves  us  a  clear  passage.     Now  I  am 


120  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

going  to  drop  to  the  ground;  it  is  not  far  below.  Can 
you  make  it  alone?" 

"I  have  done  so  many  a  time." 

We  attained  the  solid  earth  almost  together  and  in 
silence. 

"Now  let  me  guide  you/'  she  suggested,  as  I  hesitated. 
"I  know  every  inch  of  the  way  about  here.  Where  is  the 
negro  waiting?" 

"At  the  edge  of  the  wood  where  the  wagon  road  ends, 
beyond  the  slave  quarters." 

"Yes,  I  know;  it  will  be  safer  for  us  to  go  around  the 
garden." 

She  flitted  forward,  sure-footed,  confident,  and  I  fol 
lowed  as  rapidly  as  possible  through  the  darkness,  barely 
keeping  her  dim  figure  in  sight.  We  skirted  the  rear 
fence,  and  then  the  blacker  shadow  of  the  wood  loomed 
up  somber  before  us.  Our  feet  stumbled  over  the  ruts 
of  a  road  and  I  seemed  to  vaguely  recognize  the  spot  as 
familiar.  Yes,  away  off  yonder  was  the  distant  gleam  of 
the  river  reflecting  the  stars.  This  must  be  the  very 
place  where  Pete  and  I  had  parted,  but  —  where  had 
the  fellow  gone?  I  caught  at  her  sleeve,  but  as  she 
paused  and  turned  about,  could  scarcely  discern  the  out 
lines  of  her  face  in  the  gloom. 

"Here  is  where  he  was  directed  to  wait,"  I  explained, 
hurriedly.  "Before  I  left  he  had  turned  his  mule  around 
under  this  very  tree.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  mistaken  in  the 
spot" 

"Yet  he  is  not  here,  and  there  is  no  sign  of  him.  You 
left  no  other  instructions  except  for  him  to  remain  until 
your  return?" 


TO  SAVE  A  "NIGGER" 121 

"I  think  not  —  oh,  yes,  I  did  tell  him  if  you  women 
came  without  me,  he  was  to  drive  you  at  once  to  the 
boat  and  leave  me  to  follow  the  best  way  I  could.  Do 
you  suppose  it  possible  the  others  reached  here  and  he 
has  gone  away  with  them?" 

I  felt  a  consciousness  that  her  eyes  were  upon  me,  that 
she  was  endeavoring  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  my  face. 

"No,  I  can  hardly  imagine  that.  I  —  I  do  not  know 
what  to  think.  When  I  see  you  I  believe  all  you  say, 
but  here  in  the  darkness  it  is  not  the  same.  You  —  you 
are  not  deceiving  me?" 

"No;  you  must  trust  my  word.  This  is  unfortunate, 
but  neither  of  us  could  venture  back  now.  There  is  a 
pledge  between  us." 

She  stood  silent  and  I  strove  by  peering  about  to  dis 
cover  some  marks  of  guidance,  only  to  learn  the  useless- 
ness  of  the  effort.  Even  a  slight  advance  brought  no 
result,  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty  I  even  succeeded 
in  locating  her  again  in  the  darkness  —  indeed,  only  the 
sound  of  her  voice  made  me  aware  of  her  immediate 
presence. 

"The  negro's  boat  is  some  distance  away,  is  it  not?" 

"Four  miles,  over  the  worst  road  I  ever  traveled." 
A  sudden  remembrance  swept  into  my  mind,  bringing 
with  it  inspiration. 

"Have  you  ever  visited  the  mouth  of  Saunder's  Creek? 
You  have !  How  far  away  is  that  from  here  ?" 

"Not  more  than  half  a  mile,  it  enters  the  river  just 
below  the  Landing." 

"And,  if  I  understood  you  rightly/'  I  urged,  eagerly, 
'"you  said  that  these  fellows  left  their  keel-boat  there; 


122  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

that  it  had  been  rigged  up  to  run  by  steam,  and  had  no 
guard  aboard  except  the  engineer;  you  are  sure  of  this?" 

"That  was  what  the  man  who  talked  to  me  first  said  — 
the  deputy  sheriff.  He  boasted  that  they  had  the  only 
keel-boat  on  the  river  equipped  with  an  engine  and  had 
come  up  from  St.  Louis  in  two  hours.  The  Sheriff  had 
it  fitted  up  to  carry  him  back  and  forth  between  river 
towns.  You  —  you  think  we  could  use  that?" 

"It  seems  to  be  all  that  is  left  us.  I  intend  to  make  the 
effort,  anyway.  You  had  better  show  me  the  road." 


i 


CHAPTER  XII 

WE  CAPTURE  A  KEEL-BOAT 

FOLLOWED  her  closely,  a  mere  shadow,  as  she 
silently  led  the  way  along  the  edge  of  the  wood  and 
back  of  the  negro  quarters.  The  path  was  narrow 
and  apparently  little  used,  extremely  rough  at  first  until 
we  finally  came  out  upon  what  was  seemingly  a  well- 
built  road  descending  to  a  lower  level  in  the  general 
direction  of  the  river.  The  girl,  however,  was  suffi 
ciently  familiar  with  her  surroundings  to  advance  rapidly 
even  in  the  dark,  and  I  managed  to  stumble  blindly  along 
after  her  at  a  pace  which  kept  her  in  sight,  comprehend 
ing  the  urgent  need  of  haste.  We  crossed  the  front  of 
the  house,  but  at  a  distance  enabling  us  to  gain  no  glimpse 
of  the  two  men  who  guarded  the  porch,  or  to  even  hear 
their  voices.  The  only  evidence  of  their  presence  there 
still  was  the  dim  glow  of  a  pipe.  Here  we  were  cautious 
enough,  slinking  past  in  complete  silence,  watchful  of 
where  we  placed  our  feet;  but  once  beyond  this  point  of 
danger  I  joined  her  more  closely,  and  we  continued  down 
the  sharp  decline  together  side  by  side,  exchanging  a  few 
words  in  whispers  as  she  attempted  to  describe  to  me 
briefly  the  lay  of  the  land  about  the  mouth  of  the  creek 
and  where  the  boat  probably  rested,  awaiting  the  return 
of  its  owners. 

She  made  this  sufficiently  clear,   answering  my   few 
questions  promptly,  so  that  I  easily  visioned  the  scene 

123 


124  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

and  felt  confident  of  being  able  to  safely  approach  the 
unsuspecting  engineer  and  overcome  any  resistance 
before  he  should  realize  the  possibility  of  attack.  I  was 
obliged  to  rely  upon  a  guess  at  the  time  of  night,  yet 
surely  it  could  not  be  long  after  twelve  and  there  must 
yet  remain  hours  of  darkness  amply  sufficient  for  our 
purpose.  With  the  boat  once  securely  in  our  possession, 
the  engineer  compelled  to  serve,  for  I  had  no  skill  in  that 
line,  we  could  strike  out  directly  for  the  opposite  shore 
and  creep  along  in  its  shadows  past  the  sleeping  town 
at  the  Landing  until  we  attained  the  deserted  waters 
above.  By  then  we  should  practically  be  beyond  imme 
diate  pursuit.  Even  if  Carver  or  the  sheriff  discovered 
Kirby,  any  immediate  chase  by  river  would  be  impossible. 
Nothing  was  available  for  their  use  except  a  few  row- 
boats  at  the  Landing;  they  would  know  nothing  as  to 
whether  we  had  gone  up  or  down  stream,  while  the 
coming  of  the  early  daylight  would  surely  permit  us  to 
discover  some  place  of  concealment  along  the  desolate 
Illinois  shore.  Desperate  as  the  attempt  undoubtedly 
was,  the  situation,  as  I  considered  it  in  all  its  details, 
brought  me  faith  in  our  success  and  fresh  encourage 
ment  to  make  the  effort. 

The  distance  was  covered  far  more  quickly  than  I  had 
anticipated.  The  road  we  followed  was  by  now  fairly 
visible  beneath  the  faint  star-gleam,  and  once  we  were 
below  the  bluff  the  broad  expanse  of  river  appeared  at  our 
left,  a  dim,  flowing  mystery,  the  opposite  shore  invisible. 
To  our  strained  eyes  it  seemed  an  endless  flood  of  surging 
water.  Immediately  about  us,  all  remained  dark  and 
silent,  the  few  trees  lining  the  summit  of  the  overhang- 


WE  CAPTURE  A  KEEL-BOAT  125 

ing  bluff  assuming  grotesque  shapes,  and  occasionally 
startling  us  by  their  strange  resemblance  to  human 
beings.  Not  even  the  moaning  of  wind  through  the 
branches  broke  the  intense  midnight  stillness.  I  could 
feel  her  hand,  grasping  my  sleeve,  tremble  from  nervous 
tension. 

"Saunder's  Creek  is  just  beyond  that  ridge  —  see,"  she 
whispered,  causing  me  to  pause.  "I  mean  the  darker  line 
in  front.  This  road  we  are  on  goes  straight  ahead,  but 
we  must  turn  off  here  in  order  to  reach  the  mouth  where 
the  boat  lies." 

I  stooped  low,  close  to  the  earth,  so  as  to  better  per 
ceive  any  outline  against  the  sky,  and,  with  one  hand 
shadowing  my  eyes,  stared  earnestly  in  the  direction 
indicated. 

"It  will  be  over  there,  then.  Kneel  down  here  beside 
me  a  moment.  There  is  a  whisp  of  smoke  yonder,  curl 
ing  up  over  the  bank.  I  suppose  it  will  be  safe  enough 
for  us  to  venture  that  far?" 

"Yes,  unless  the  engineer  has  come  ashore." 

"Is  there  any  path?" 

"Not  that  I  remember,  but  there  are  plenty  of  dead 
rushes  along  the  side  of  the  bank.  It  will  be  safe  enough 
to  go  where  we  can  look  over." 

We  moved  forward  slowly,  but  this  time  I  took  the 
lead  myself,  bending  low,  and  feeling  carefully  for  foot 
ing  in  the  wiry  grass.  The  bank  was  not  high,  and  once 
safely  at  its  edge,  we  could  peer  out  through  the  thick 
growth  of  rushes  with  little  fear  of  being  observed  from 
below.  The  darkness,  however,  so  shrouded  everything, 
blending  objects  into  shapeless  shadows,  that  it  required 


126  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

several  moments  before  I  could  clearly  determine  the 
exact  details.  The  mouth  of  the  creek,  a  good-sized 
stream,  was  only  a  few  yards  away,  and  the  boat,  rather 
a  larger  craft  than  I  had  anticipated  seeing,  lay  just  off 
shore,  with  stern  to  the  bank,  as  though  prepared  for 
instant  departure.  It  was  securely  held  in  position  by  a 
rope,  probably  looped  about  a  convenient  stump,  and  my 
eyes  were  finally  able  to  trace  the  outlines  of  the  wheel 
by  which  it  was  propelled.  Except  for  straggling  rushes 
extending  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  the  space  between 
was  vacant,  yet  sufficiently  mantled  in  darkness  to  enable 
one  to  creep  forward  unseen. 

At  first  glance  I  could  distinguish  no  sign  of  the  boat 
man  left  in  charge,  but,  even  as  I  lay  there,  breathless 
and  uncertain,  he  suddenly  revealed  his  presence  by  light 
ing  a  lantern  in  the  stern.  The  illumination  was  feeble 
enough,  yet  sufficient  to  expose  to  view  the  small,  unpro 
tected  engine  aft,  and  also  the  fact  that  all  forward  of 
the  little  cockpit  in  which  it  stood,  the  entire  craft  was 
decked  over.  The  fellow  was  busily  engaged  in  over 
hauling  the  machinery,  leaning  far  forward,  his  body 
indistinct,  the  lantern  swinging  in  one  hand,  with  entire 
attention  devoted  to  his  task.  Occasionally,  as  he  lifted 
his  head  for  some  purpose,  the  dim  radiance  fell  upon  his 
face,  revealing  the  unmistakable  countenance  of  a 
mulatto,  a  fellow  of  medium  size,  broad  of  cheek  with 
unusually  full  lips,  and  a  fringe  of  whisker  turning  gray. 
Somehow  this  revelation  that  he  was  a  negro,  and  not  a 
white  man,  brought  with  it  to  me  an  additional  con 
fidence  in  success.  I  inclined  my  head  and  whispered  in 
the  girl's  ear: 


WE  CAPTURE  A  KEEL-BOAT  127 

"You  are  not  to  move  from  here  until  I  call.     This  is 
to  be  my  part  of  the  work,  handling  that  lad.    I  am  going 


now." 


"He  is  colored,  is  he  not,  a  slave?" 

"We  can  only  guess  as  to  that.  But  he  does  not  look 
to  me  like  a  hard  proposition.  If  I  can  only  reach  the 
boat  without  being  seen,  the  rest  will  be  easy.  Now  is 
the  proper  time,  while  he  is  busy  tinkering  with  the 
engine.  You  will  stay  here?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  I  —  I  could  be  of  no  help." 

She  suddenly  held  out  her  hand,  as  though  impelled  to 
the  action  of  some  swift  impulse,  and  the  warm  pressure 
of  her  fingers  meant  more  than  words.  I  could  not  see 
the  expression  on  her  face,  yet  knew  the  slender  body  was 
trembling  nervously. 

"Surely  you  are  not  afraid?" 

"Oh,  no;  it  is  not  that  —  I  —  I  am  all  unstrung.  You 
must  not  think  of  me,  at  all." 

This  was  far  easier  said  than  done,  however,  for  she 
was  more  in  my  mind  as  I  crept  forward  than  the  indis 
tinct  figure  below  in  the  boat.  It  was  becoming  a  con 
stant  struggle  already  —  indeed,  had  been  from  the 
first  —  to  hold  her  for  what  I  actually  knew  her  to  be  — 
negress,  a  slave,  desperately  seeking  to  escape  from  her 
master.  The  soft,  refined  voice,  the  choice  use  of  lan 
guage,  the  purity  of  her  thought  and  expression,  the 
girlish  face  as  I  had  seen  it  under  the  light,  all  combined 
to  continually  blind  me  to  the  real  truth.  I  could  not 
even  force  myself  to  act  toward  her  from  any  stand 
point  other  than  that  of  equality,  or  regard  her  as  in  any 
way  removed  from  my  most  courteous  consideration.  I 


128  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

think  it  was  equally  hard  for  her  to  adapt  her  conduct 
to  these  new  conditions.  Accustomed  all  her  life  to 
respect,  to  admiration,  to  the  courtesy  of  men,  she 
could  not  stoop  to  the  spirit  of  servitude.  It  was  this 
effort  to  humble  herself,  to  compel  remembrance, 
which  caused  her  to  speak  of  herself  so  often  as  a 
slave. 

These  thoughts  assailed,  pursued  me,  as  I  crept  cau 
tiously  down  the  steep  bank,  concealed  by  the  shadows 
of  the  rushes.  Yet  in  reality  I  remained  intent  enough 
upon  my  purpose.  Although  unable  to  wholly  banish 
all  memory  of  the  young  girl  just  left  behind,  I  still 
realized  the  gravity  of  my  task,  and  my  eyes  were  watch 
ful  of  the  shrouded  figure  I  wras  silently  approaching.  I 
drew  nearer  inch  by  inch,  advancing  so  slowly,  and  snake- 
like,  that  not  even  the  slightest  sound  of  movement 
aroused  suspicion.  Apparently  the  fellow  was  engaged 
in  oiling  the  machinery,  for  he  had  placed  the  lantern  on 
deck,  and  held  a  long-spouted  can  in  his  fingers.  His 
back  remained  toward  me  as  I  drew  near  the  stern,  and, 
consequently,  I  no  longer  had  a  glimpse  of  his  face.  The 
wooden  wheel  of  the  boat,  a  clumsy  appearing  apparatus, 
rested  almost  directly  against  the  bank,  where  the  water 
was  evidently  deep  enough  to  float  the  vessel,  and  the 
single  rope  holding  it  in  position  was  drawn  taut  from 
the  pressure  of  the  current.  Waiting  until  the  man  was 
compelled  to  bend  lower  over  his  work,  utterly  uncon 
scious  of  my  presence,  I  straightened  up,  and,  pistol  in 
hand,  stepped  upon  the  wooden  beam  supporting  the 
wheel.  He  must  have  heard  this  movement,  for  he  lifted 
his  head  quickly,  yet  wras  even  then  too  late;  already  I 


WE  CAPTURE  A  KEEL-BOAT  129 

had  gained  the  after-deck,  and  my  weapon  was  on  a  level 
with  his  eyes. 

"Don't  move,  or  cry  out!"  I  commanded,  sternly. 
"Obey  orders  and  you  will  not  be  hurt." 

He  shrank  away,  sinking  upon  the  bench,  his  face 
upturned  so  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  it,  for  the  instant 
too  greatly  surprised  and  frightened  to  give  utterance 
to  a  sound.  His  mouth  hung  open,  and  his  eyes  stared 
at  me. 

"Who — who  wus  yer?     Whatcha  want  yere?" 

"I  arn  asking  questions,  and  you  are  answering  them. 
Are  you  armed?  All  right,  then;  hand  it  over.  Now 
put  out  that  light." 

He  did  exactly  as  I  told  him,  moving  as  though  par- 
alyzed  by  fear,  yet  unable  to  resist. 

"You  are  a  negro  —  a  slave?" 

"Yas,  sah;  Ah's  Massa  Donaldson's  boy  frum  Saint 
Louee." 

"He  is  the  sheriff?" 

"Yas,  sah  —  yas,  sah.  Whar  is  Massa  Donaldson? 
Yer  ain't  done  bin  sent  yere  by  him,  I  reckon.  'Pears 
like  I  never  see  yer  afore." 

"No,  but  he  is  quite  safe.     What  is  your  name?" 

"Sam,  sah  —  just  plain  Sam." 

"Well,  Sam,  I  understand  you  are  an  engineer.  Now 
it  happens  that  I  want  to  use  this  boat,  and  you  are  going 
to  run  it  for  me.  Do  you  understand  I  am  going  to  sit 
down  here  on  the  edge  of  this  cockpit,  and  hold  this 
loaded  pistol  just  back  of  your  ear.  It  might  go  off  at 
any  minute,  and  surely  will  if  you  make  a  false  move  or 
attempt  to  foul  the  engine.  Any  trick,  and  there  is  going 


130 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  be  a  dead  nigger  overboard.  I  know  enough  about 
engines  to  tell  if  you  play  fair — so  don't  take  any 
chances,  boy." 

"Ah  —  Ah  —  reckon  as  how  I  was  goin'  fer  ter  run 
her  all  right,  sah ;  she's  sum  consid'ble  contrary  et  times, 
sah,  but  Ah'll  surely  run  her,  if  thar's  eny  run  in  her,  sah. 
Ah  ain't  carryin'  'bout  bein'  no  corpse." 

"I  thought  not ;  you'd  rather  be  a  free  nigger,  perhaps  ? 
Well,  Sam,  if  you  will  do  this  job  all  right  for  me  tonight, 
I'll  put  you  where  the  sheriff  will  never  see  hide  nor  hair 
of  you  again  —  no,  not  yet;  wait  a  moment,  there  is 
another  passenger." 

She  came  instantly  in  answer  to  my  low  call,  and, 
through  the  gloom,  the  startled  negro  watched  her 
descend  the  bank,  a  mere  moving  shadow,  yet  with  the 
outlines  of  a  woman.  I  half  believe  he  thought  her  a 
ghost,  for  I  could  hear  him  muttering  inarticulately  to 
himself.  I  dared  not  remove  my  eyes  from  the  fellow, 
afraid  that  his  very  excess  of  fear  might  impel  him  to 
some  reckless  act,  but  I  extended  one  hand  across  the  side 
of  the  boat  to  her  assistance. 

"Take  my  hand,  Rene,"  I  said  pleasantly  to  reassure 
her,  "and  come  aboard.  Yes,  everything  is  all  right. 
I've  just  promised  Sam  here  a  ticket  for  Canada." 

I  helped  her  across  into  the  cockpit  and  seated  her  on 
the  bench,  but  never  venturing  to  remove  my  eyes  from 
the  negro.  His  actions,  and  whatever  I  was  able  to 
observe  of  the  expression  of  his  face,  only  served  to 
convince  me  of  his  trustworthiness,  yet  I  could  take  no 
chances. 

"She's  just  a  real,  live  woman,  sah?"  he  managed  to 


WE  CAPTURE  A  KEEL-BOAT  131 

ejaculate,    half   in  doubt.      "She   sure   ain't   no   ghost, 
sah?" 

"By  no  means,  Sam;  she  is  just  as  real  as  either  you 
or  I.  Now  listen,  boy  —  you  know  what  will  happen  to 
you  after  this,  if  Donaldson  ever  gets  hold  of  you?" 

"I  Aspects  Ah  does,  sah.  He'd  just  nat'larly  skin  dis 
nigger  alive,  Ah  reckon." 

"Very  well,  then;  it  is  up  to  you  to  get  away,  and  I 
take  it  that  you  understand  this  river.  Where  is  the 
main  current  along  here?" 

"From  de  p'int  yonder,  over  ter  de  east  shore." 

"And  the  depth  of  water  across  from  us?  We  are 
going  to  head  up  stream." 

"Yas,  sah;  yer  plannin'  fer  ter  go  nor'.  Wai,  sah, 
dars  planty  o'  watah  fer  dis  yere  boat  right  now,  wid  de 
spring  floods.  Nothin'  fer  ter  be  a'feered  of  'bout  dat." 

"That  is  good  news.  Now,  Sam,  I  am  going  to  cut 
this  line,  and  I  want  you  to  steer  straight  across  into  the 
shadows  of  the  Illinois  shore.  I  believe  you  are  going 
to  play  square,  but,  for  the  present,  I'm  going  to  take 
no  chances  with  you.  I  am  holding  this  pistol  within  a 
foot  of  your  head,  and  your  life  means  nothing  to  me 
if  you  try  any  trick.  What  is  the  speed  of  this  boat 
up  stream?" 

'  'Bout  ten  mile  an  hour,  sah." 

"Well,  don't  push  her  too  hard  at  first,  and  run  that 
engine  as  noiselessly  as  possible.  Are  you  ready  ?  Yes  — 
then  I'll  cut  loose." 

I  severed  the  line  and  we  began  to  recede  from  the 
shore,  cutting  diagonally  across  the  decidedly  swift  cur 
rent.  Once  beyond  the  protection  of  the  point  the 


132 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

star-gleam  revealed  the  sturdy  rush  of  the  waters,  occa 
sionally  flecked  with  bubbles  of  foam.  Sam  handled  the 
unwieldy  craft  with  the  skill  of  a  practiced  boatman, 
and  the  laboring  engine  made  far  less  racket  than  I  had 
anticipated.  Ahead,  nothing  was  visible  but  the  turbu 
lent  expanse  of  desolate  water,  the  Illinois  shore  being 
still  too  far  away  for  the  eye  to  perceive  through  the 
darkness.  Behind  us  the  Missouri  bluffs  rose  black,  and 
fairly  distinct  against  the  sky,  but  dimming  constantly  as 
the  expanse  of  water  widened  to  our  progress.  Pistol  in 
hand,  and  vigilant  to  every  motion  of  the  negro,  my  eyes 
swept  along  that  vague  shore  line,  catching  nowhere  a 
spark  of  light,  nor  any  evidence  that  the  steady  chug  of 
our  engine  had  created  alarm.  The  churning  wheel  flung 
white  spray  into  the  air,  which  glittered  in  the  silver  of 
the  star-rays,  and  occasionally  showered  me  with  mois 
ture.  At  last  the  western  shore  imperceptibly  merged 
into  the  night  shadows,  and  we  were  alone  upon  the 
mysterious  bosom  of  the  vast  stream,  tossed  about  in  the 
full  sweep  of  the  current,  yet  moving  steadily  forward, 
and  already  safely  beyond  both  sight  and  sound. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND 

T?  VERY  moment  of  progress  tended  to  increase  my 
•""-^  confidence  in  Sam's  loyalty.  His  every  attention 
seemed  riveted  upon  his  work,  and  not  once  did  I  observe 
his  eyes  turned  backward  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Missouri 
shore.  The  fellow  plainly  enough  realized  the  situa 
tion —  that  safety  for  himself  depended  on  keeping 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  master.  To  this  end  he  devoted 
every  instant  diligently  to  coaxing  his  engine  and  a  skill 
ful  guidance  of  the  boat,  never  once  permitting  his  head 
to  turn  far  enough  to  glance  at  me,  although  I  could 
occasionally  detect  his  eyes  wandering  in  the  direction 
of  the  girl. 

She  had  not  uttered  a  word,  nor  changed  her  posture 
since  first  entering  the  boat,  but  remained  just  as  I  had 
seated  her,  one  hand  grasping  the  edge  of  the  cockpit, 
her  gaze  on  the  rushing  waters  ahead.  I  could  realize 
something  of  what  must  be  passing  through  her  mind  — 
the  mingling  of  doubt  and  fear  which  assailed  her  in  this 
strange  environment.  Up  until  now  she  had  been 
accorded  no  opportunity  to  think,  to  consider  the  nature 
of  her  position;  she  had  been  compelled  to  act  wholly 
upon  impulse  and  driven  blindly  to  accept  my  sugges 
tions.  And  now,  in  this  silence,  the  reaction  had  come, 
and  she  was  already  questioning  if  she  had  done  right. 

It  was  in  my  heart  to  speak  to  her,  in  effort  to 

133 


134 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

strengthen  her  faith,  but  I  hesitated,  scarcely  knowing 
what  to  say,  deeply  touched  by  the  pathetic  droop  of  her 
figure,  and,  in  truth,  uncertain  in  my  own  mind  as  to 
whether  or  not  we  had  chosen  the  wiser  course.  All  I 
dared  do  was  to  silently  reach  out  one  hand,  and  rest  it 
gently  on  those  fingers  clasping  the  rail.  She  did  not 
remove  her  hand  from  beneath  mine,  nor,  indeed,  give 
the  slightest  evidence  that  she  was  even  aware  of  my 
action.  By  this  time  the  eastern  shore  became  dimly 
defined  through  the  black  mist,  and  the  downward  sweep 
of  the  current  no  longer  struck  in  force  against  our 
bow. 

"Wus  Ah  ter  turn  nor',  sah?"  asked  the  negro,  sud 
denly. 

"Yes,  up-stream,  but  keep  in  as  close  to  the  shore 
as  you  think  safe.  There  is  no  settlement  along  this 
bank,  is  there?" 

"No,  sah;  dar's  jus'  one  cabin,  'bout  a  mile  up-stream, 
but  dar  ain't  nobody  livin'  thar  now.  Whar  yer  all  aim 
fer  ter  go?" 

I  hesitated  an  instant  before  I  answered,  yet,  almost 
as  quickly,  decided  that  the  whole  truth  would  probably 
serve  us  best.  The  man  already  had  one  reason  to  use 
his  best  endeavors;  now  I  would  bring  before  him  a 
second. 

"Just  as  far  up  the  river  before  daylight  as  possible, 
Sam.  Then  I  hope  to  uncover  some  hiding  place  where 
we  can  lie  concealed  until  it  is  dark  again.  Do  you  know 
any  such  place?" 

He  scratched  his  head,  muttering  something  to  him 
self;  then  turned  half  about,  exhibiting  a  line  of  ivories. 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          135 

"On  de  Illinois  shore,  sah?  Le's  see;  thar's  Rassuer 
Creek,  'bout  twenty  mile  up.  'Tain't  so  awful  big  et  the 
mouth,  but  I  reckon  we  mought  pole  up  fer  'nough  ter 
git  outer  sight.  Ah  spects  you  all  knows  whut  yer  a 
headin'  fer?" 

"To  a  certain  extent  —  yes;  but  we  had  to  decide  on 
this  action  very  quickly,  with  no  chance  to  plan  it  out. 
I  am  aiming  at  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois." 

He  glanced  about  at  me  again,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
decipher  my  expression  in  the  gloom. 

"De  Illinois  ribber,  boss;  what  yer  hope  fer  ter  find 
thar?" 

"A  certain  man  I've  heard  about.  Did  you  ever  hap 
pen  to  hear  a  wrhite  man  mentioned  who  lives  near  there  ? 
His  name  is  Amos  Shrunk  ?" 

I  could  scarcely  distinguish  his  eyes,  but  I  could 
feel  them.  I  thought  for  a  moment  he  would  not 
answer. 

"Yer'l  surely  excuse  me,  sah,"  he  said  at  last,  humbly, 
his  voice  with  a  note  of  pleading  in  it.  "Ah's  feelin' 
friendly  'nough,  an'  all  dat,  sah,  but  still  yer  mus'  'mem 
ber  dat  Ah's  talkin'  ter  a  perfict  stranger.  If  yer  wud 
sure  tell  me  furst  just  whut  yer  was  aimin'  at,  then 
maybe  Ah'd  know  a  heap  mor'n  Ah  do  now." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,  Sam.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  of 
it.  I  am  endeavoring  to  help  this  young  woman  to 
escape  from  those  men  back  yonder.  You  must  know 
why  they  were  there;  no  doubt  you  overhead  them  talk 
coming  up?" 

"Yas,  sah;  Massa  Donaldson  he  was  goin'  up  fer  ter 
serve  sum  papers  fer  Massa  Kirby,  so  he  cud  run  off  de 


136  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

Beaucaire    niggers.      But    dis    yere    gal,    she    ain't    no 
nigger  —  she's  just  a  white  pusson." 

"She  is  a  slave  under  the  law,"  I  said,  gravely,  as  she 
made  no  effort  to  move,  "and  the  man,  Kirby,  claims 
her." 

I  could  see  his  mouth  fly  open,  but  the  surprise  of  this 
statement  halted  his  efforts  at  speech. 

"That  explains  the  whole  situation,"  I  went  on.  "Now 
will  you  answer  me?" 

"'Bout  dis  yere  Massa  Shrunk?" 

"Yes  —  you  have  heard  of  him  before?" 

"Ah  reckon  as  how  maybe  Ah  has,  sah.  Mos'  all  de 
niggers  down  dis  way  has  bin  tol'  'bout  him  —  som'how 
dey  has,  sah." 

"So  I  thought.  Well,  do  you  know  where  he  can  be 
found?" 

"Not  perzackly,  sah.  Ah  ain't  never  onct  bin  thar,  but 
Ah  sorter  seems  fer  ter  recollec'  sum'thin'  'bout  whar  he 
mought  be.  Ah  reckon  maybe  Ah  cud  go  thar,  if  Ah  just 
hed  to.  Ah  reckon  if  yer  all  held  dat  pistol  plum  'gainst 
mah  hed,  Ah'd  mos'  likely  find  dis  Amos  Shrunk.  Good 
Lord,  sah!"  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  "Ah  just 
can't  git  hoi'  o'  all  dis  —  Ah  sure  can't,  sah  —  'bout  her 
bein'  a  nigger." 

Rene  turned  about,  lifting  her  face  into  the  star 
light. 

"Whether  I  am  white  or  colored,  Sam,"  she  said, 
quietly,  "can  make  little  difference  to  you  now.  I  am 
a  woman,  and  am  asking  your  help.  I  can  trust  you, 
can  I  not?" 

The  negro  on  his  knees  stared  at  her,  the  whites  of 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          137 

his  eyes  conspicuous.  Then  suddenly  he  jerked  off  his 
old  hat. 

"Ah  'spects  yer  kin,  Missus,"  he  pledged  himself  in  a 
tone  of  conviction  which  made  my  heart  leap.  "Ah's 
bin  a  slave-nigger  fer  forty-five  years,  but  just  de  same, 
Ah  ain't  never  bin  mean  ter  no  woman.  Yas,  sah,  yer 
don't  neither  one  ob  yer  eber  need  ter  ask  Sam  no  mor'  — 
he's  a  goin'  thro'  wid  yer  all  ter  de  end  —  he  sure  am, 
Ma'm." 

Silence  descended  upon  us,  and  I  slipped  the  pistol 
back  into  my  pocket.  Rene  rested  her  cheek  on  her  hand 
and  gazed  straight  ahead  into  the  night.  Her  head 
seemed  to  droop,  and  I  realized  that  her  eyes  saw  nothing 
except  those  scenes  pictured  by  her  thoughts.  Sam 
busied  himself  about  his  work,  muttering  occasionally 
under  his  breath,  and  shaking  his  head  as  though  strug 
gling  with  some  problem,  but  the  few  words  I  caught 
were  disconnected,  yielding  me  no  knowledge  of  what  he 
was  trying  to  solve.  The  bow  of  the  boat  had  been 
deflected  to  the  north,  and  was  silently  cleaving  the  slug 
gish  downward  trend  of  the  water,  for  we  had  passed 
out  of  the  swifter  current  and  were  close  in  to  the  eastern 
shore.  The  bank  appeared  low  and  unwooded,  a  mere 
black  line  barely  above  the  water  level  and  I  guessed  that 
behind  it  stretched  uninhabitable  marshes  overflowed  by 
the  spring  floods. 

As  we  fought  our  way  up  stream  the  boat  gradually 
drew  away,  the  low  shore  fading  from  view  as  the  negro 
sought  deeper  water,  until  finally  the  craft  was  nearly  in 
the  center  of  the  broad  stream  where  the  eye  could  see 
only  turbulent  water  sweeping  past  on  every  side.  Occa- 


138  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


sionally  a  log  scraped  along  our  side,  dancing  about  amid 
foam,  or  some  grotesque  branch,  reaching  out  gaunt 
arms,  swept  by.  The  stars  overhead  reflected  their  dim 
light  from  off  the  surface,  rendering  everything  more 
weird  and  desolate.  The  intense  loneliness  of  the  scene 
seemed  to  clutch  my  soul.  Far  off  to  the  left  a  few  wink 
ing  lights  appeared,  barely  perceptible,  and  I  touched  the 
negro,  pointing  them  out  to  him  and  whispering  my  ques 
tion  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  motionless  girl. 

"Is  that  the  Landing  over  there?" 

"Ah  certainly  'spects  it  must  be,  sah ;  dar  ain't  no  other 
town  directly  'round  dese  parts." 

"Then  those  lights  higher  up  must  be  on  the  bluff  at 
Beaucaire  ?" 

"Yas,  sah;  looks  like  de  whol'  house  was  lit  up.  I 
reckon  things  am  right  lively  up  thar  'bout  now."  He 
chuckled  to  himself,  smothering  a  laugh.  "It's  sure 
goin'  fer  ter  bother  Massa  Donaldson  ter  lose  dis  nigger, 
sah,  fer  Ah's  de  only  one  he's  got." 

The  lights  slowly  faded  away  in  the  far  distance, 
finally  disappearing  altogether  as  we  rounded  a  sharp 
bend  in  the  river  bank.  The  engine  increased  its  stroke, 
giving  vent  to  louder  chugging,  and  I  could  feel  the 
strain  of  the  planks  beneath  us  as  we  battled  the  current. 
This  new  noise  may  have  aroused  her,  for  Rene  lifted 
her  head  as  though  suddenly  startled  and  glanced  about 
in  my  direction. 

"We  have  passed  the  village?"  she  asked,  rather  list 
lessly. 

"Yes;  it  is  already  out  of  sight.  From  the  number  of 
lights  burning  I  imagine  our  escape  has  been  discovered.'' 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          139 

"And  what  will  they  do?"  an  echo  of  dismay  in  her 
voice. 

All  fear  of  any  treachery  on  the  part  of  the  negro  had 
completely  deserted  me,  and  I  slipped  down  from  my 
perch  on  the  edge  of  the  cockpit  to  a  place  on  the  bench 
at  her  side.  She  made  no  motion  to  draw  away,  but 
her  eyes  were  upon  my  face,  as  though  seeking  to  read 
the  meaning  of  my  sudden  action. 

"We  can  talk  better  here,"  I  explained.  "The  engine 
makes  so  much  noise." 

"Yes;  and  —  and  somehow  I  —  I  feel  more  like  trust 
ing  you  when  I  am  able  to  see  your  face,"  she  admitted 
frankly.  "I  am  actually  afraid  to  be  alone." 

"I  have  felt  that  this  was  true  from  the  first.  Indeed, 
I  seriously  wonder  at  the  trust  you  have  reposed  in  me  — 
a  total  stranger." 

"But  —  but  how  could  I  help  it?  Have  I  been 
unwomanly?  I  think  I  scarcely  know  what  I  have  done. 
I  could  very  easily  have  told  what  was  right  in  the  old 
days;  but  —  but  surely  you  understand  —  this  was  not 
to  be  decided  by  those  rules.  I  was  no  longer  free.  Do 
you  mean  that  you  blame  me  for  what  has  been  done?" 

"Far  from  it.  (You  have  acted  in  the  only  way  pos 
sible.  To  me  you  are  a  wonderfully  brave  woman.  I 
doubt  if  one  in  a  thousand  could  have  faced  the  situa 
tion  as  well." 

"Oh  I  can  hardly  feel  I  have  been  that  It  seems  to 
me  I  have  shown  myself  strangely  weak — permitting 
you  to  do  exactly  as  you  pleased  with  me.  Yet  you  do 
not  understand;  it  has  not  been  wholly  my  own  peril 
which  caused  me  to  surrender  so  easily." 


140  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"But  I  think  I  do  understand  —  it  was  partly  a  sacrifice 
for  others/' 

"In  a  way,  yes,  it  was ;  but  I  cannot  explain  more  fully, 
even  to  you,  now.  Yet  suppose  I  make  this  sacrifice, 
and  it  fails;  suppose  after  all  they  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  these  men?" 

"I  will  not  believe  that/'  I  protested,  stoutly.  "I  feel 
convinced  they  had  warning  —  there  is  no  other  way  in 
which  to  account  for  their  disappearance,  their  failure  to 
return  to  the  house.  They  must  have  encountered  Pete 
and  gone  away  with  him." 

"If  I  only  knew  that." 

"Perhaps  we  can  assure  ourselves ;  we  can  go  ashore  at 
his  place  up  the  river,  and  if  his  boat  is  gone,  there  will 
be  no  longer  any  doubt.  In  any  case,  it  is  clearly  your 
duty  to  save  yourself." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?  It  has  seemed  to  me 
cowardly  to  run  away." 

"But,  Rene,"  I  urged.  "They  were  the  ones  who 
deserted  first.  If  they  had  warning  of  danger,  they  fled 
without  a  word  to  you  —  leaving  you  alone  in  the  hands 
of  those  men." 

"They  —  they,  perhaps  they  failed  to  realize  my  peril. 
Oh  you  cannot  see  this  as  I  do,"  she  faltered,  endeavor 
ing  to  conjure  up  some  excuse.  "They  may  have  thought 
they  could  serve  me  best  in  that  way." 

I  laughed,  but  not  in  any  spirit  of  humor. 

"Hardly  that,  I  imagine.  Far  more  likely  they  fled 
suddenly  in  a  panic  of  fear,  without  pausing  to  think 
at  all.  Why,  you  were  the  very  one  whose  danger  was 
the  greatest;  you  were  the  one  plunged  into  slavery." 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          K-l 

"Yes —  yes;  I  had  forgotten  that.  Never  for  a 
moment  does  it  seem  real  to  me.  I  have  to  keep  saying- 
over  and  over  again  to  myself,  'I  am  a  negro  and  a 
slave.' " 

"And  so  do  I,"  I  confessed,  unthinkingly.  "And  even 
then,  when  I  remember  you  as  I  first  saw  you  in  that 
lighted  room  back  yonder,  it  is  unbelievable." 

Her  eyes  fell  from  my  face,  her  head  drooping,  as  she 
stared  over  the  rail  at  the  sullen  rush  of  black  water 
alongside.  She  remained  silent  and  motionless  for  so 
long  that  I  felt  impelled  to  speak  again,  yet  before  I 
could  decide  what  to  say,  her  voice  addressed  me, 
although  with  face  still  averted. 

"Yes,  it  is  indeed  most  difficult — for  both  of  us," 
she  acknowledged,  slowly.  "We  are  in  an  extremely 
embarrassing  position.  You  must  not  think  I  fail  to 
realize  this.  It  would  be  comparatively  easy  for  me  to 
choose  my  course  but  for  that.  I  do  not  know  why  you 
serve  me  thus  —  risking  your  very  life  and  your  profes 
sional  future  —  but  neither  of  us  must  forget,  not  for  a 
moment,  that  I  am  only  a  runaway  slave.  I  can  only 
consent  to  go  with  you,  Lieutenant  Knox,  if  you  promise 
me  this." 

I  hesitated  to  make  the  pledge,  to  put  it  into  binding 
words,  my  lips  pressed  tightly  together,  my  hands 
clinched.  Feeling  the  rebuke  of  my  silence,  she  turned 
her  head  once  more,  and  her  questioning  eyes  again 
sought  my  face  in  the  star-gleam. 

"You  must  promise  me,"  she  insisted,  firmly,  although 
her  sensitive  lips  trembled  as  she  gave  utterance  to  the 
shameful  \vords.  "I  am  nothing  else.  I  am  no  white 


142  THE  DEVIL'S  OIVN 

woman  of  your  own  race  and  class  appealing  for  pro 
tection.  I  cannot  ask  of  you  the  courtesy  a  gentleman 
naturally  gives;  I  can  only  beg  your  mercy.  I  am  a 
negress  —  you  must  not  forget,  and  you  must  not  let  me 
forget.  If  you  will  give  me  your  word  I  shall  trust 
you,  fully,  completely.  But  it  must  be  given.  There  is 
no  other  way  by  which  I  can  accept  your  protection; 
there  can  be  no  equality  between  us — only  an  impassable 
barrier  of  race." 

"But  I  do  not  see  this  from  the  same  viewpoint  as  do 
you  of  the  South." 

"Oh  yes,  you  do.  The  viewpoint  is  not  so  dissimilar ; 
not  in  the  same  degree,  perhaps,  but  no  less  truly.  You 
believe  in  my  right  of  freedom;  you  will  even  fight  for 
that  right,  but  at  the  same  time  you  realize  as  I  do,  that 
the  one  drop  of  black  blood  in  my  veins  is  a  bar  sinister, 
now  and  forever.  It  cannot  be  overcome ;  it  must  not  be 
forgotten.  You  will  pledge  me  this?" 

"Yes  — I  pledge  you." 

"And,  in  spite  of  that  drop  of  black  blood,  as  long  as 
we  are  together,  you  will  hold  me  a  woman,  worthy  of 
respect  and  honor?  Not  a  creature,  a  chattel,  a  play 
thing?" 

"Will  you  accept  my  hand?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  will  answer  you,  Rene  Beaucaire,"  I  said, 
soberly,  "with  all  frankness,  black  or  white  I  am  your 
friend,  and  never,  through  any  word  or  act  of  mine,  shall 
you  ever  regret  that  friendship." 

Her  wide-open  eyes  gazed  straight  at  me.  It  seemed 
as  if  she  would  never  speak.  Then  I  felt  the  tightening 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          143 

pressure  of  her  hand,  and  her  head  bent  slowly  forward 
as  though  in  the  instinct  of  prayer. 

"Thank  God!"  she  whispered  softly.  "Now  I  can  go 
with  you." 

I  waited  breathless,  conscious  of  the  trembling  of  her 
body  against  mine.  Once  again  the  bowed  head  was 
lifted,  and  this  time  a  sparkle  of  unshed  tears  were  visible 
in  the  shadowed  eyes. 

"You  have  not  yet  explained  to  me  what  we  were  to 
do?  Your  plans  for  tomorrow?" 

"Because  I  scarcely  have  any,"  I  replied,  comprehend 
ing  that  now  she  claimed  partnership  in  this  adventure. 
"This  has  all  occurred  so  suddenly,  I  have  only  acted 
upon  impulse.  No  doubt  those  back  at  the  Landing  will 
endeavor  to  pursue  us ;  they  may  have  discovered  already 
our  means  of  escape  and  procured  boats.  My  principal 
hope  is  that  they  may  take  it  for  granted  that  we  have 
chosen  the  easier  way  and  gone  down  stream.  If  so  we 
shall  gain  so  much  more  time  to  get  beyond  their  reach. 
Anyway  we  can  easily  out-distance  any  rowboat,  and 
Sam  tells  me  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  had  at  the 
Landing." 

"But  why  have  you  chosen  the  northern  route  ?  Surely 
you  had  a  reason?" 

"Certainly;  it  was  to  deceive  them  and  get  out  of  slave 
territory  as  quickly  as  possible.  There  are  friends  in 
this  Direction  and  none  in  the  other.  If  we  should 
endeavor  to  flee  by  way  of  the  Ohio,  we  would  be  com 
pelled  to  run  a  thousand-mile  gauntlet.  There  are  slaves 
in  Illinois  —  it  has  never  been  declared  a  free  state  —  but 
these  are  held  almost  exclusively  in  the  more  southern 


144 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

counties.  North  of  the  river  the  settlers  are  largely 
from  New  England,  and  the  majority  of  them  hate 
slavery  and  are  ready  to  assist  any  runaway  to  freedom." 

"But  you  have  spoken  of  a  man  —  Amos  Shrunk  — 
who  is  he?" 

"You  have  certainly  heard  rumors,  at  least,  that  there 
are  regular  routes  of  escape  from  here  to  Canada?" 

"Yes ;  it  has  been  discussed  at  the  house.  I  have  never 
clearly  understood,  but  I  do  know  that  slaves  disappear 
and  are  never  caught.  I  was  told  white  men  helped 
them." 

"It  is  accomplished  through  organized  effort  by  these 
men  —  Black  Abolitionists,  as  they  are  called  —  haters 
of  slavery.  They  are  banded  together  in  a  secret  society 
for  this  one  purpose  and  have  what  they  call  stations  scat 
tered  all  along  at  a  certain  distance  apart  —  a  night's 
travel  —  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  Canadian  line, 
where  the  fugitives  are  hidden  and  fed.  The  runaways 
are  passed  from  one  station  to  the  next  under  cover  of 
darkness,  and  are  seldom  recaptured.  A  station  keeper, 
I  am  told,  is  only  permitted  to  know  a  few  miles  of  the 
route,  those  he  must  cover  —  the  system  is  perfect,  and 
many  are  engaged  in  it  who  are  never  even  suspected." 

"And  this  man,  is  he  one?" 

"Yes,  a  leader;  he  operates  the  most  dangerous  station 
of  all.  The  escaping  slaves  come  to  him  first." 

"And  he  passes  them  on  to  the  next  man  —  do  you 
know  who?" 

"Only  what  little  Pete  told  me;  the  second  agent  is 
supposed  to  be  a  preacher  in  Beardstown." 

She  asked  no  further  questions,  and  after  a  moment 


SEEKING  THE  UNDERGROUND          145- 

turned  away,  resting  back  against  the  edge  of  the  cock 
pit  with  chin  cupped  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  The- 
profile  of  her  face  was  clearly  defined  by  the  starlight 
reflected  by  the  river,  and  I  found  it  hard  to  with 
draw  my  eyes.  A  movement  by  the  negro  attracted  my 
attention. 

"There  is  a  small  creek  about  four  miles  above  the 
Landing,  Sam,"  I  said  shortly.  "Do  you  think  you  caa 
find  it?" 

"On  de  Missouri  side,  sah?    Ah  reckon  Ah  cud." 


i 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST 

T  TESTED  his  skill  as  a  boatman  to  locate  the  exact 
spot  sought  amid  that  gloom,  yet  he  finally  attained 
to  it  closely  enough  so  I  was  able  to  get  ashore,  wading 
nearly  thigh  deep  in  water  and  mud,  but  only  to  learn 
that  the  boat,  which  I  had  provisioned  earlier  in  the 
evening,  had  disappeared  from  its  moorings.  No  trace 
of  it  could  be  found  in  the  darkness,  although  I  devoted 
several  minutes  to  the  search.  To  my  mind  this  was 
positive  evidence  that  Pete  had  returned,  accompanied 
by  the  two  frightened  women,  and  that,  finally  despair 
ing  of  my  arrival,  had  departed  with  them  up  the  river. 
In  all  probability  we  would  overhaul  the  party  before 
morning,  certainly  before  they  could  attain  the  mouth  of 
the  Illinois.  Their  heavy  rowboat  would  be  compelled 
to  creep  along  close  in  shore  to  escape  the  grasp  of 
the  current,  while  our  engine  gave  us  every  advantage. 
I  made  my  way  back  to  the  keel-boat  with  this  informa 
tion,  and  the  laboring  engine  began  to  chug  even  while 
I  was  briefly  explaining  the  situation  to  Rene.  She  lis 
tened  almost  wearily,  asking  but  few  questions,  and  both 
of  us  soon  lapsed  into  silence.  A  little  later  she  had 
pillowed  her  head  on  her  arms  and  apparently  had  fallen 
asleep. 

I  must  have  dozed,  myself,  as  the  hours  passed, 
although  hardly  aware  of  doing  so.  The  soft,  con- 

146 


DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST  147 

tinuous  chugging  of  the  engine,  the  swash  of  water 
alongside,  the  ceaseless  sweep  of  the  current,  and  the 
dark  gloom  of  the  shadows  through  which  we  struggled, 
all  combined  to  produce  drowsiness.  I  know  my  eyes 
were  closed  several  times,  and  at  last  they  opened  to  a 
realization  that  gray,  sickly  dawn  rested  upon  the  river 
surface.  It  was  faint  and  dim,  a  promise  more  than  a 
realization  of  approaching  day,  yet  already  sufficient  to 
afford  me  view  of  the  shore  at  our  right,  and  to  reveal 
the  outlines  of  a  sharp  point  of  land  ahead  jutting  into 
the  stream.  The  mist  rising  from  off  the  water  in 
vaporous  clouds  obscured  all  else,  rendering  the  scene 
weird  and  unfamiliar.  It  was,  indeed,  a  desolate  view, 
the  near-by  land  low,  and  without  verdure,  in  many 
places  overflowed,  and  the  river  itself  sullen  and 
angry.  Only  that  distant  point  appeared  clearly  defined 
and  real,  with  the  slowly  brightening  sky  beyond.  I 
endeavored  to  arouse  myself  from  stupor,  rubbing  the 
sleep  from  my  eyes.  Rene  had  changed  her  posture,  but 
still  slumbered,  with  face  completely  concealed  in  her 
arms;  but  Sam  was  wide  awake,  and  turned  toward  me 
grinning  at  my  first  movement.  -He  had  a  broad,  good- 
humored  face,  and  a  row  of  prominent  teeth,  slightly 
shadowed  by  a  very  thin  moustache.  Instinctively,  I 
liked  the  fellow  on  sight  —  he  appeared  both  intelligent 
and  trustworthy. 

"Daylight,  is  it?"  I  said,  speaking  low  so  as  not  to 
awaken  the  girl.  "I  must  have  been  asleep." 

"Yas,  sah;  yer's  bin  a  noddin'  fer  de  las'  hour.  Ah 
wus  'bout  ter  stir  yer  up,  sah,  fer  Ah  reckon  as  how  we's 
mos'  dar." 


148 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Most  where?"  staring  about  incredulously.  "Oh, 
yes,  Rassuer  Creek.  Have  we  made  that  distance 
already?" 

Sam's  teeth  glittered  in  another  expanding  of  his 
mouth. 

"War,  we's  bin  a  goin'  et  a  mighty  good  gait,  sah. 
She  ain't  done  fooled  none  on  me  all  dis  night,"  his  hand 
laid  lovingly  on  the  engine.  "Nebber  kicked  up  no  row 
o'  no  kind  —  just  chug,  chug,  chug  right  'long.  Tears 
like  she  sorter  know'd  dis  nigger  hed  ter  git  away.  Eny- 
how,  we  bin  movin'  Ion'  now  right  smart  fer  'bout  four 
hours,  an'  Rassuer  Creek  am  just  'round  dat  p'int 
yonder — Ah's  mighty  sure  ob  dat,  sah." 

He  was  right,  but  it  was  broad  daylight  when  we 
reached  there,  the  eastern  sky  a  glorious  crimson,  and  the 
girl  sitting  up,  staring  at  the  brilliant  coloring  as  though 
it  pictured  to  her  the  opening  of  a  new  world.  I  was  too 
busily  engaged  helping  Sam  at  the  wheel,  for  the  swirl 
of  the  current  about  the  headland  required  all  our 
strength  to  combat  it,  and  eagerly  scanning  the  irregular 
shore  line,  to  observe  her  closely  in  the  revealing  light; 
yet  I  knew  that  she  had  .studied  us  both  attentively  from 
beneath  her  long  lashes,  before  turning  her  head  away. 

Rounding  the  headland  brought  us  immediately  into 
a  new  country,  the  river  bank  high  and  firm,  a  bank  of 
rather  vivid  yellow  clay,  with  trees  thickly  covering  the 
rising  ground  beyond.  The  passage  of  a  few  hundred 
yards  revealed  the  mouth  of  Rassuer  Creek,  a  narrow 
but  sluggish  stream,  so  crooked  and  encroached  upon 
by  the  woods  as  to  be  practically  invisible  from  the  center 
of  the  river.  The  water  was  not  deep,  yet  fortunately 


DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST  149 

proved  sufficiently  so  for  our  purpose,  although  we  were 
obliged  to  both  pole  and  paddle  the  boat  upward  against 
the  slow  current,  and  it  required  an  hour  of  hard  labor 
to  place  the  craft  safely  beyond  the  first  bend  where  it 
might  lie  thoroughly  concealed  by  the  intervening  fringe 
of  trees.  Here  we  made  fast  to  the  bank. 

I  assisted  Rene  ashore,  and  aided  her  to  climb  to  a 
higher  level,  carpeted  with  grass.  The  broad  river  was 
invisible,  but  we  could  look  directly  down  upon  the  boat, 
where  Sam  was  already  busily  rummaging  through  the 
lockers,  in  search  of  something  to  eat.  He  came  ashore 
presently  bearing  some  corn  pone,  and  a  goodly  portion 
of  jerked  beef.  Deciding  it  would  be  better  not  to 
attempt  a  fire,  we  divided  this,  and  made  the  best  meal 
possible,  meanwhile  discussing  the  situation  anew,  and 
planning  what  to  do  next.  The  negro,  seated  at  one  side 
alone  upon  the  grass,  said  little,  beyond  replying  to  my 
questions;,  yet  scarcely  once  removed  his  eyes  from  the 
girl's  face.  He  seemed  unable  to  grasp  the  thought  that 
she  was  actually  of  his  race,  a  runaway  slave,  or  permit 
his  tongue  to  utter  any  words  of  equality.  Indeed,  I 
could  not  prevent  my  own  glance  from  being  constantly 
attracted  in  her  direction,  also.  Whatever  had  been  her 
mental  strain  and  anguish,  the  long  hours  of  the  night 
had  in  no  marked  degree  diminished  her  beauty.  To  me 
she  appeared  even  younger,  and  more  attractive  than  in 
the  dim  glare  of  the  lamplight  the  evening  before;  and 
this  in  spite  of  a  weariness  in  her  eyes,  and  the  lassitude 
of  her  manner.  She  spoke  but  little,  compelling  herself 
to  eat,  and  assuming  a  cheerfulness  I  was  sure  she  was 
far  from  feeling.  It  was  clearly  evident  her  thoughts 


150  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

were  elsewhere,  and  finally  the  conviction  came  to  me, 
that,  more  than  all  else,  she  desired  to  be  alone.  My  eyes 
sought  the  outlines  of  the  boat  lying  in  the  stream 
below. 

"What  is  there  forward  of  the  cockpit,  Sam?"  I  ques 
tioned.  "Beneath  the  deck,  I  mean;  there  seem  to  be 
several  portholes." 

"A  cabin,  sah;  'tain't  so  awful  big,  but  Massa  Donald 
son  he  uster  sleep  dar  off  an'  on." 

"The  young  lady  could  rest  there  then?" 

"Sure  she  cud.  'Twas  all  fixed  up  fine  afore  we  lef 
Saint  Louee.  Ah'll  show  yer  de  way,  Missus." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  rather  eagerly,  and  stood  with  one 
hand  resting  against  the  trunk  of  a  small  tree.  Her  eyes 
met  mine,  and  endeavored  a  smile. 

"I  thank  you  for  thinking  of  that,"  she  said  gratefully. 
"I  —  I  really  am  tired,  and  —  and  it  will  be  rest  just  to  be 
alone.  You  —  you  do  not  mind  if  I  go?" 

"Certainly  not.  There  is  nothing  for  any  of  us  to  do, 
but  just  take  things  easy  until  night." 

"And  then  we  are  to  go  on,  up  the  river?" 

"Yes,  unless,  of  course,  something  should  occur  dur 
ing  the  day  to  change  our  plan.  Meanwhile  Sam  and  I 
will  take  turns  on  guard,  while  you  can  remain  undis 
turbed." 

She  gave  me  her  hand  simply,  without  so  much  as  a 
thought  of  any  social  difference  between  us,  and  I  bowed 
low  as  I  accepted  it,  equally  oblivious.  Yet  the  realiza 
tion  came  to  her  even  as  our  fingers  met,  a  sudden  dash 
of  red  flaming  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  falling 
before  mine. 


DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST  151 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  she  exclaimed,  drawing  away.  "It  is 
so  hard  to  remember." 

"I  beg  you  not  to  try.  I  have  but  one  aim  —  to  serve 
you  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  Let  me  do  it  in  my  own 
way." 

"Your  own  way?" 

"Yes,  the  way  of  a  gentleman,  the  way  of  a  friend. 
You  can  look  into  my  face  now  by  daylight.  Please  look; 
am  I  unworthy  to  be  trusted?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  or  even  seem  to  hear 
my  question,  yet  slowly  her  downcast  eyes  lifted,  until 
she  gazed  frankly  into  my  own.  Beneath  the  shading 
lashes  they  were  wistful,  pleading,  yet  steadfastly 
brave. 

"I  am  at  your  mercy,  Lieutenant  Knox,"  she  said 
quietly.  "I  must  trust  you  —  and  I  do.  Yes,  you  may 
serve  me  in  your  own  way.  We  —  we  cannot  seem  to 
play  a  part  very  well,  either  of  us,  so,  perhaps,  it  will  be 
easier  just  to  be  natural." 

I  watched  the  two  as  they  went  down  the  steep  bank 
together,  and  Sam  helped  her  over  the  rail  into  the  cock 
pit.  The  narrow  entrance  leading  into  the  cabin  forward 
was  to  the  right  of  the  engine,  and  she  disappeared 
through  the  sliding  door  without  so  much  as  glancing 
upward  toward  where  I  remained  standing.  The  negro 
left  the  door  open,  and  returned  slowly,  clambering  up 
the  bank. 

;t  'Cuse  me,  sah,"  he  said  clumsily,  as  he  paused  before 
me,  rubbing  his  head,  his  eyes  wandering  below.  "Did 
Ah  hear  right  whut  yer  sed  las'  night,  'bout  how  dat 
young  woman  was  a  nigger,  a  runaway  frum  Massa 


152  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

Kirby?     'Pears  like  Ah  don't  just  seem  fer  ter  git  dat 
right  in  my  head,  sah." 

'That  is  the  truth,  Sam,  although  it  appears  quite  as 
impossible  to  me  as  to  you.  She  is  a  natural  lady,  and 
worthy  of  all  respect  —  a  beautiful  girl,  with  no  out 
ward  sign  that  she  is  not  wholly  white  —  yet  she  has 
the  blood  of  your  race  in  her  veins,  and  is  legally  a 
slave." 

"Lordy,  an  she  nebber  know'd  it  till  just  now  ?" 
"No ;  I  can  only  wonder  at  her  meeting  the  truth  as  she 
does.    Perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you  the  story  —  it  is  very- 
brief.     She  is  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  son  of  the 
late   Judge   Beaucaire,   and  a  slave  mother  known   as 
Delia,  a  quadroon  woman.     The  boy  disappeared  years 
ago,  before  she  was  born,  and  is  probably  dead,  and  she 
has  been  brought  up,  and  educated  exactly  as  if  she  was 
the  Judge's  own  child.    She  has  never  known  otherwise, 
until  those  men  came  to  the  house  the  other  night." 
"An' — an'  de  ol'  Jedge,  he  nebber  done  set  her  free?" 
"No;  nor  the  mother.    I  do  not  know  why,  only  that 
it  is  a  fact." 

"An'  now  she  done  b'long  ter  dis  yere  Massa  Kirby  ?" 
"Yes,  he  won  all  the  Beaucaire  property,  including  the 
slaves,  in  a  poker  game  on  the  river,  the  night  Beaucaire 
died." 

"Ah  done  heered  all  'bout  dat,  sah.  An'  yer  nebber 
know'd  dis  yere  girl  afore  et  all  ?" 

"No,  I  never  even  saw  her.  I  chanced  to  hear  the 
story,  and  went  to  the  house  to  warn  them,  as  no  one  else 
would.  I  was  too  late,  and  no  other  course  was  left  but 
to  help  her  escape.  That  is  the  whole  of  it." 


DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST  153 

He  asked  several  other  questions,  but  at  last  appeared 
satisfied,  and  after  that  we  discussed  the  guard  duty  of 
the  day,  both  agreeing  it  would  not  be  safe  for  us  to  per 
mit  any  possible  pursuit  to  pass  by  us  up  the  river  unseen. 
Sam  professed  himself  as  unwearied  by  the  night's  work, 
and  willing  to  stand  the  first  watch;  and  my  eyes  fol 
lowed  his  movements  as  he  scrambled  across  the  inter 
vening  ravine,  and  disappeared  within  a  fringe  of  woods 
bordering  the  shore  of  the  river.  Shortly  after  I  lay 
down  in  the  tree  shade,  and  must  have  fallen  asleep 
almost  immediately.  I  do  not  know  what  aroused  me, 
but  I  immediately  sat  upright,  startled  and  instantly 
awake,  the  first  object  confronting  me  being  Sam  on  the 
crest  of  the  opposite  ridge,  eagerly  beckoning  me  to  join 
him.  The  moment  he  was  assured  of  my  coming,  and 
without  so  much  as  uttering  a  word  of  explanation,  he 
vanished  again  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods. 

I  crossed  the  ravine  with  reckless  haste,  clambering 
up  the  opposite  bank,  and  sixty  feet  beyond  suddenly 
came  into  full  view  of  the  broad  expanse  of  water. 
Scarcely  had  I  glimpsed  this  rolling  flood,  sparkling 
under  the  sun's  rays,  when  my  gaze  turned  up  stream, 
directed  by  an  excited  gesture  of  the  negro.  Less  than 
a  mile  away,  its  rapidly  revolving  wheel  churning  the 
water  into  foam  in  ceaseless  battle  against  the  current, 
was  a  steamboat.  It  \vas  not  a  large  craft,  and  so  dingy 
looking  that,  even  at  that  distance,  it  appeared  dull  gray 
in  color.  A  number  of  moving  figures  were  perceptible 
on  the  upper  deck ;  two  smokestacks  belched  forth  a  vast 
quantity  of  black  smoke,  sweeping  in  clouds  along  the 
water  surface,  and  a  large  flag  flapped  conspicuously 


154  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

against  the   sky.      I   stared   at  the  apparition,   scarcely 
comprehending  the  reality  of  what  I  beheld. 

"Yer  bettah  stoop  down  more,  sah,"  Sam  urged.  "Per 
sum  o'  dem  fellars  might  see  yer  yit.  Ah  nebber  heerd 
nuthin',  ner  saw  no  smoke  till  she  cum  a  puffin'  'round 
de  end  'o  dat  p'int.  Ah  cudn't  dare  go  fer  yer  then,  sah, 
fer  fear  dey'd  see  me,  so  Ah  jus'  nat'larly  lay  down  yere, 
an'  watched  her  go  by." 

"Is  it  a  government  boat?" 

"Ah  reckon  maybe;  leastwise  thar's  a  heap  oj  sojers 
aboard  her  —  reg'lars  Ah  reckon,  fer  dey's  all  in  uniform. 
But  everybody  aboard  wan't  sojers." 

"You  know  the  steamer?" 

"Yas,  sah.  Ah's  seed  her  afore  dis  down  et  Saint 
Louee.  She  uster  run  down  de  ribber  —  she's  de  John 
B.  Glover.  She  ain't  no  great  shakes  ob  a  boat,  sah." 

His  eyes,  which  had  been  eagerly  following  the  move 
ments  of  the  craft,  turned  and  glanced  at  me. 

"Now  dey's  goin'  fer  ter  cross  over,  sah,  so's  ter  keep 
de  channel.  Ah  don't  reckon  es  how  none  o'  dem  men 
kin  see  back  yere  no  more.  Massa  Kirby  he  wus  aboard 
dat  steamer,  sah." 

"Kirby!     Are  you  sure  about  that,  Sam?" 

"  'Course  Ah's  sure.  Didn't  Ah  see  him  just  as  plain 
as  Ah  see  you  right  now?  He  wus  for-rad  by  de  rail, 
near  de  pilot  house,  a  watchin'  dis  whole  shore  like  a 
hawk.  Dat  sure  wus  Massa  Kirby  all  right,  but  dar 
wan't  nobody  else  'long  wid  him." 

"But  what  could  he  be  doing  there  on  a  troop  boat?" 

The  negro  scratched  his  head,  momentarily  puzzled 
by  my  question. 


DAWN  OF  DEEPER  INTEREST          155 

"Ah  sure  don't  know,  sah,"  he  admitted.  "Only  dat's 
perzackly  who  it  was.  Ah  reckon  dar  ain't  no  boat  whut 
won't  take  a  passenger,  an'  Kirby,  he  knows  ebery  captain 
'long  dis  ribber.  Ah  figur'  it  out  'bout  dis  way,  sah ;  dat 
nobody  kin  tell  yit  which  way  we  went  —  up  de  ribber, 
er  down  de  ribber.  Long  cum  de  John  B.  Glover,  an* 
Massa  Kirby  he  just  take  a  chance,  an'  goes  aboard.  De 
sheriff  he  goes  der  odder  way,  down  stream  in  a  rowboat ; 
an'  dat's  how  dey  aims  ter  sure  head  us  off." 

I  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  convinced  that  the 
conclusions  of  the  negro  were  probably  correct.  That 
was  undoubtedly  about  how  it  had  happened.  To  attempt 
pursuit  up  stream  with  only  oars  as  propelling  power, 
would  be  senseless,  but  the  passage  upward  of  this  troop 
boat  afforded  Kirby  an  opportunity  he  would  not  be  slow 
to  accept.  Getting  aboard  would  present  no  great  diffi 
culty,  and  his  probable  acquaintance  with  the  captain 
would  make  the  rest  easy. 

The  steamer  by  this  time  was  moving  diagonally  across 
the  river,  head  toward  the  other  shore,  and  was  already 
so  far  away  the  men  on  deck  were  invisible.  It  was 
scarcely  probable  that  Kirby  would  go  far  northward, 
but  just  what  course  the  man  would  take  when  once  more 
ashore  was  problematical.  Where  he  might  choose  to 
seek  for  us  could  not  be  guessed.  Yet  the  mere  fact  that 
he  was  already  above  us  on  the  river  was  in  itself  a  matter 
for  grave  consideration.  Still,  thus  far  we  remained 
unlocated,  and  there  was  less  danger  in  that  direction 
than  down  stream.  Donaldson,  angered  by  the  loss  of  his 
boat,  and  the  flight  of  Sam,  would  surely  see  to  it  that 
no  craft  slipped  past  St.  Louis  unchallenged.  In  this 


156  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

respect  he  was  more  to  be  feared  than  Kirby,  with  a 
hundred  miles  of  river  to  patrol ;  while,  once  we  attained 
the  Illinois,  and  made  arrangements  with  Shrunk,  the 
immediate  danger  would  be  over.  Then  I  need  go  no 
farther  —  the  end  of  the  adventure  might  be  left  to 
others.  I  looked  up — the  steamer  was  a  mere  smudge 
on  the  distant  bosom  of  the  river. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CABIN  OF  AMOS  SHRUNK 

BEYOND  this  passing  of  the  John  B.  Glover,  the  day 
proved  uneventful,  although  all  further  desire  for 
sleep  deserted  me.  It  was  late  afternoon  before  Rene 
finally  emerged  from  the  cabin  to  learn  the  news,  and  I 
spent  most  of  the  time  on  watch,  seated  at  the  edge  of 
the  bluff,  my  eyes  searching  the  surface  of  the  river. 
While  Kirby's  presence  up  stream,  unquestionably  in 
creased  our  peril  of  capture,  this  did  not  cause  me  as 
much  anxious  thought  as  did  the  strange  disappearance 
of  Free  Pete,  and  the  two  women.  What  had  become 
of  them  during  the  night?  Surely  they  could  never 
have  out-stripped  us,  with  only  a  pair  of  oars  by  which 
to  combat  the  current,  and  yet  we  had  obtained 
no  glimpse  of  them  anywhere  along  that  stretch  of 
river. 

The  knowledge  that  the  steamer  which  had  passed  us 
was  heavily  laden  with  troops  was  most  encouraging.  In 
itself  alone  this  was  abundant  proof  of  the  safe  delivery 
of  my  dispatches,  and  I  was  thus  relieved  to  realize  that 
this  duty  had  been  performed.  My  later  disappearance 
was  excusable,  now  that  I  was  convinced  the  papers  in 
trusted  to  me  had  reached  the  right  hands.  There  might 
be  wonder,  and,  later,  the  necessity  of  explanation,  yet 
no  one  would  suffer  from  my  absence,  and  I  was  within 
the  limits  of  my  furlough  —  the  reinforcements  for  Forts 

157 


158  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

Armstrong  and  Crawford  were  already  on  their  way. 
So,  altogether,  I  faced  the  task  of  eluding  Kirby  with  a 
lighter  heart,  and  renewed  confidence.  Alone,  as  I  be 
lieved  him  to  be,  and  in  that  new  country  on  the  very 
verge  of  civilization,  he  was  hardly  an  antagonist  I 
needed  greatly  to  fear.  Indeed,  as  man  to  man,  I  rather 
welcomed  an  encounter. 

There  is  little  to  record,  either  of  the  day  or  the  night. 
The  latter  shut  down  dark,  but  rainless,  although  the  sky 
was  heavily  overcast  by  clouds.  Satisfied  that  the  river 
was  clear  as  far  as  eye  could  reach  in  every  direction,  we 
managed  to  pole  the  heavy  boat  out  of  its  berth  in  the 
creek  while  the  twilight  yet  lingered,  the  western  sky 
still  remaining  purple  from  the  lingering  sunset  as  we 
emerged  into  the  broader  stream.  The  following  hours 
passed  largely  in  silence,  each  of  us,  no  doubt,  busied  with 
our  own  thoughts.  Sam  made  no  endeavor  to  speed  his 
engiiie,  keeping  most  of  the  way  close  to  the  deeper 
shadow  of  the  shore,  and  the  machinery  ran  smoothly, 
its  noise  indistinguishable  at  any  distance.  Twice  we 
touched  bottom,  but  to  no  damage  other  than  a  slight 
delay  and  the  labor  of  poling  off  into  deeper  water,  while 
occasionally  overhanging  limbs  of  trees,  unnoticed  in  the 
gloom,  struck  our  faces.  By  what  uncanny  skill  the  negro 
was  able  to  navigate,  how  he  found  his  way  in  safety 
along  that  ragged  bank,  remains  a  mystery.  To  my  eyes 
all  about  us  was  black,  impenetrable,  not  even  the  water 
reflecting  a  gleam  of  light;  indeed,  so  dense  was  the  sur 
rounding  gloom  that  in  the  deeper  shadows  I  could  not 
even  distinguish  the  figure  of  the  girl  seated  beside  me 
in  the  cockpit.  Yet  there  was  scarcely  a  break  in  At»e 


CABIN  OF  AMOS  SHRUNK  159 

steady  chug  of  the  engine,  or  the  gentle  swish  of  water 
alongside. 

The  clouds  broke  slightly  after  midnight,  occasionally 
yielding  a  glimpse  of  a  star,  but  the  uninhabited  shore 
remained  desolate  and  silent.  Day  had  not  broken  when 
we  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois,  and  turned  our  bow 
cautiously  up  that  stream,  becoming  immediately  aware 
that  we  had  entered  new  waters.  The  negro,  ignorant 
of  what  was  before  us,  soon  beached  the  boat  onto  a  sand 
bar,  and  we  decided  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  remain 
there  until  dawn.  This  was  not  long  in  coming,  the 
graying  sky  of  the  east  slowly  lighting  up  the  scene,  and 
bringing  into  view,  little  by  little,  our  immediate  sur 
roundings.  These  were  lonely  and  dismal  enough,  yet 
revealed  nothing  to  create  alarm.  A  desolate  flat  of 
sand  extended  from  either  shore  back  to  a  high  ridge  of 
clay,  which  was  thickly  wooded.  Slightly  higher  up  the 
river  this  ridge  approached  more  closely  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  with  trees  actually  overhanging  the  water,  and  a 
rather  thick  growth  of  underbrush  hiding  the  ground. 
The  river  was  muddy,  flowing  with  a  swift  current,  and 
we  could  distinguish  its  course  only  so  far  as  the  first 
bend,  a  comparatively  short  distance  away.  Nowhere 
appeared  the  slightest  evidence  of  life,  either  on  water 
or  land;  all  was  forlorn  and  dead,  a  vista  of  utter  deso 
lation.  Sam  was  standing  up,  his  whole  attention  con 
centrated  on  the  view  up  stream. 

"Do  steamers  ever  go  up  this  river?"  I  asked,  surprised 
at  the  volume  of  water. 

He  glanced  around  at  me,  as  though  startled  at  my 
voice. 


160  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Yas,  sah;  putty  near  eny  sorter  boat  kin.  Ah  nebber 
tried  it,  fer  Massa  Donaldson  hed  no  bus'ness  ober  in  dis 
kintry,  but  Ah's  heerd  'em  talk  down  ter  Saint  Louee, 
Trouble  is,  sah,  we's  got  started  in  de  wrong  place  — 
dar's  plenty  watah  t'other  side  dis  yere  bar." 

"Who  told  you  the  best  way  to  find  Shrunk?" 

His  eyes  widened  and  searched  my  face,  evidently  still 
somewhat  suspicious  of  any  white  man. 

"A  nigger  down  Saint  Louee  way,  sah.  Dey  done 
cotched  him,  an'  brought  him  back  afore  he  even  got  ter 
Beardstown." 

"And  you  believe  you  can  guide  us  there?" 

"Ah  sure  can,  if  whut  dat  nigger  sed  wus  co'rect,  sah. 
Ah  done  questioned  him  mighty  par'ticlar,  an'  Ah 
'members  ebery  sign  whut  he  giv'  me."  He  grinned 
broadly.  "Ah  sorter  suspicion'd  Ah  mought  need  dat 
informa'ion." 

"All  right,  then;  it  is  certainly  light  enough  now  — 
let's  push  off." 

We  had  taken  the  sand  lightly,  and  were  able  to  pole 
the  boat  into  deep  water  with  no  great  difficulty.  I 
remained  crouched  at  the  bow,  ready  for  any  emergency, 
while  the  engine  resumed  its  chugging,  and  Sam  guided 
us  out  toward  the  swifter  current  of  the  stream.  The 
broader  river  behind  us  femained  veiled  in  mist,  but 
the  gray  light  was  sufficient  for  our  purpose,  enabling 
us  to  proceed  slowly  until  our  craft  had  rounded  the 
protruding  headland,  out  of  sight  from  below.  Here 
the  main  channel  cut  across  to  the  left  bank,  and  we 
forced  into  the  deeper  shadows  of  the  overhanging 
woods. 


CABIN  OF  AMOS  SHRUNK  161 


"  'Tain't  so  awful  fur  from  yere,  sah,"  Sam  called  to 
me. 

''What,  the  place  where  we  are  to  land?" 

"Yas,  sah.  It's  de  mouth  ob  a  little  crick,  whut  yer 
nebber  see  till  yer  right  plum  at  it.  Bettah  keep  yer  eyes 
open  'long  dat  shore,  sah." 

The  girl,  alertly  bent  forward,  was  first  among  us  to 
detect  the  concealed  opening,  which  was  almost  com 
pletely  screened  by  the  over-arching  trees,  her  voice  ring 
ing  excitedly,  as  she  pointed  it  out.  Sam  was  quick  to 
respond,  and,  almost  before  I  had  definitely  established 
the  spot,  the  bow  of  the  boat  swerved  and  we  shot  in 
through  the  leafy  screen,  the  low-hung  branches  sweep 
ing  against  our  faces  and  scraping  along  the  sides.  It 
was  an  eery  spot,  into  which  the  faint  daylight  scarcely 
penetrated,  but,  nevertheless,  revealed  itself  a  secure  and 
convenient  harbor.  While  the  stream  was  not  more  than 
twelve  feet  in  width  and  the  water  almost  motionless, 
the  banks  were  high  and  precipitous  and  the  depth  amply 
sufficient.  The  dim  light,  only  occasionally  finding 
entrance  through  the  trees,  barely  enabled  us  to  see  for 
a  short  distance  ahead.  It  looked  a  veritable  cave,  and, 
indeed,  all  I  remember  noting  in  my  first  hasty  glance 
through  the  shadows,  was  the  outline  of  a  small  boat, 
moored  to  a  fallen  tree.  Sam  must  have  perceived  this 
at  the  same  instant,  for  he  ran  our  craft  alongside  the 
half -submerged  log  and  stopped  his  engine.  I  scrambled 
over,  found  precarious  footing  on  the  wet  bark,  and  made 
fast. 

"So  this  is  the  place?"  I  questioned  incredulously, 
staring  about  at  the  dark,  silent  forest,  which  still 


162  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

remained  in  the  deep  night  shade.  "Why,  there's  nothing 
here." 

"No,  sah;  dar  certenly  don't  'pear  fer  ter  be  much/' 
and  the  negro  crept  out  of  the  cockpit  and  joined  me, 
"'ceptin'  dat  boat.  Dar  ain't  no  boat  'round  yere,  les' 
folks  hes  bin  a  ridin'  in  it,  Ah  reckon.  Dis  sure  am  de 
spot,  all  right  —  an'  dar's  got  ter  be  a  trail  'round  yere 
sumwhar." 

Rene  remained  motionless,  her  eyes  searching  the 
shadows,  as  though  half  frightened  at  finding  herself  in 
such  dismal  surroundings.  The  girl's  face  appeared 
white  and  drawn  in  that  twilight.  Sam  advanced 
cautiously  from  off  the  log  to  the  shore,  and  began  to 
anxiously  scan  the  ground,  beating  back  and  forth 
through  the  underbrush.  After  watching  him  a  moment 
my  gaze  settled  on  the  strange  boat,  and  I  crept  along  the 
log  curious  to  examine  it  more  closely.  It  had  the  appear 
ance  of  being  newly  built,  the  paint  unscratched,  and 
exhibiting  few  marks  of  usage.  A  single  pair  of  oars 
lay  crossed  in  the  bottom  and  beside  these  was  an  old 
coat  and  some  ordinary  fishing  tackle  —  but  nothing  to 
arouse  any  interest.  Without  doubt  it  belonged  to  Amos 
Shrunk,  and  had  been  left  here  after  the  return  from 
some  excursion  either  up  or  down  the  river.  I  was 
still  staring  at  these  things,  and  speculating  about  them, 
when  the  negro  called  out  from  a  distance  that  he 
had  found  the  path.  Rene  answered  his  hail,  stand 
ing  up  in  the  boat,  and  I  hastened  back  to  help  her 
ashore. 

We  had  scarcely  exchanged  words  during  the  entire 
night,  but  now  she  accepted  my  proffered  hand  gladly, 


CABIN  OF  AMOS  SPIRUNK  163 

and  with  a  smile,  springing  lightly  from  the  deck  to  the 
insecure  footing  of  the  log. 

"I  do  not  intend  that  you  shall  leave  me  behind,"  she 
said,  glancing  about  with  a  shudder.  "This  is  such  a 
horrid  place." 

"The  way  before  us  looks  scarcely  better,"  I  answered, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  locate  Sam.  "Friend  Shrunk 
evidently  is  not  eager  for  callers.  Where  is  that 
fellow?" 

"Somewhere  over  in  that  thicket,  I  think.  At  least  his 
voice  sounded  from  there.  You  discovered  nothing  in 
the  boat?" 

"Only  a  rag  and  some  fishing  tackle.  Come;  we'll 
have  to  plunge  in  somewhere." 

She  followed  closely  as  I  pushed  a  passage  through  the 
obstructing  underbrush,  finally  locating  Sam  at  the  edge 
of  a  small  opening,  where  the  light  was  sufficiently  strong 
to  enable  us  to  distinguish  marks  of  a  little-used  trail 
leading  along  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  gully  bisecting  the 
sidehill.  The  way  was  obstructed  by  roots  and  rotten 
tree  trunks,  and  so  densely  shaded  as  to  be  in  places 
almost  imperceptible,  but  Sam  managed  to  find  its  wind 
ings,  while  we  held  close  enough  behind  to  keep  him 
safely  in  sight.  Once  we  came  into  view  of  the  river,  but 
the  larger  part  of  the  way  lay  along  a  hollow,  heavily 
overshadowed  by  trees,  where  we  could  see  only  a  few 
feet  in  any  direction. 

At  the  crossing  of  a  small  stream  we  noticed  the 
imprint  of  several  feet  in  the  soft  mud  of  the  shore.  One 
plainly  enough  was  small  and  narrow,  beyond  all  ques 
tion  that  of  a  woman,  but  the  others  were  all  men's,  one 


164  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

being  clad  in  moccasins.  Beyond  this  point  the  path 
trended  downward,  winding  along  the  face  of  the  hill 
and  much  more  easily  followed.  Sam,  still  ahead,  started 
to  clamber  across  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  but  came  to 
a  sudden  halt,  staring  downward  at  something  concealed 
from  our  view  on  the  other  side. 

"Good  Lord  o'  mercy!"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly. 
'  What's  dat?" 

I  was  close  beside  him  by  this  time  and  saw  the  thing 
also  —  the  body  of  a  man  lying  on  the  ground.  The  light 
was  so  dim  only  the  bare  outlines  of  the  recumbent  figure 
were  visible,  and,  following  the  first  shock  of  discovery, 
my  earliest  thought  was  to  spare  the  girl. 

"Wait  where  you  are,  Rene!"  I  exclaimed,  waving  her 
back.  "There  is  a  man  lying  here  beyond  the  log.  Come, 
Sam;  we  will  see  what  he  looks  like." 

He  was  slow  in  following,  hanging  back  as  I  ap 
proached  closer  to  the  motionless  form,  and  I  could  hear 
the  muttering  of  his  lips.  Unquestionably  the  man  was 
dead;  of  this  I  was  assured  before  I  even  knelt  beside 
him.  He  lay  prone  on  his  face  in  a  litter  of  dead  leaves, 
and  almost  the  first  thing  I  noticed  was  the  death  wound 
back  of  his  ear,  where  a  large  caliber  bullet  had  pierced 
the  brain.  His  exposed  hands  proved  him  a  negro,  and 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  unusual  repugnance  that  I  touched 
his  body,  turning  it  over  sufficiently  to  see  the  face.  The 
countenance  of  a  negro  in  death  seldom  appears  natural, 
and  under  that  faint  light,  no  revealed  feature  struck  me, 
at  first,  as  familiar.  Then,  all  at  once,  I  knew  him,  unable 
to  wholly  repress  a  cry  of  startled  surprise,  as  I  stared 
down  into  the  upturned  face  —  the  dead  man,  evidently 


CABIN  OF  AMOS  SHRUNK  165 

murdered,  shot  treacherously  from  behind,  was  Free 
Pete.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  gazing  about  blindly  into  the 
dim  woods,  my  mind  for  the  instant  dazed  by  the  im 
portance  of  this  discovery.  What  could  it  mean  ?  How 
could  it  have  happened  ?  By  what  means  had  he  reached 
this  spot  in  advance  of  us,  and  at  whose  hand  had  he 
fallen  ?  He  could  have  been  there  only  for  one  purpose, 
surely  —  in  an  attempt  to  guide  Eloise  Beaucaire  and  the 
quadroon  Delia.  Then  what  had  become  of  the  women  ? 
Where  were  they  now  ? 

I  stumbled  backward  to  the  support  of  the  log,  unable 
to  answer  any  one  of  these  questions,  remembering  only 
in  that  moment  that  I  must  tell  Rene  the  truth.  Her  eyes 
already  were  upon  me,  exhibiting  her  fright  and  per 
plexity,  her  knowledge  that  I  had  viewed  something  of 
horror.  She  could  keep  silent  no  longer. 

"Tell  me — please,"  she  begged.  "Is  the  man  dead? 
Who  is  he,  do  you  know  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied  desperately.  "He  is  dead,  and  I  recog 
nize  his  face.  He  is  the  negro  Pete,  and  has  been  killed, 
shot  from  behind.  I  cannot  understand  how  it  has 
happened." 

"Pete,"  she  echoed,  grasping  at  the  log  to  keep  erect, 
her  eyes  on  that  dimly  revealed  figure  in  the  leaves.  "Free 
Pete,  Carlton's  Pete?  How  —  how  could  he  have  got 
here?  Then  —  then  the  others  must  have  been  with 
him.  What  has  become  of  them?" 

"It  is  all  mystery ;  the  only  way  to  solve  it  is  for  us  to 
go  on.  It  can  do  no  one  any  good  to  stand  here,  staring 
at  this  dead  body.  When  we  reach  the  cabin  we  may 
learn  what  has  occurred.  Go  on  ahead,  Sam,  and  we  will 


166  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

follow  —  don't  be  afraid,  boy;  it  is  not  the  dead  who 
hurt  us." 

She  clung  tightly  to  me,  shrinking  past  the  motionless 
figure.  She  was  not  sobbing ;  her  eyes  were  dry,  yet  every 
movement,  each  glance,  exhibited  her  depth  of  horror.  I 
drew  her  closer,  thoughtless  of  what  she  was,  my  heart 
yearning  to  speak  words  of  comfort,  yet  realizing  there 
was  nothing  left  me  to  say.  I  could  almost  feel  the  full 
intensity  of  her  struggle  for  self-control,  the  effort  she 
was  making  to  conquer  a  desire  to  give  way.  She  must 
have  known  this,  for  once  she  spoke. 

"Do  not  mind  me,"  she  said,  pausing  before  the  utter 
ance  of  each  word  to  steady  her  voice.  "I  —  I  am  not 
going  to  break  down.  It  —  it  is  the  suddenness  —  the 
shock.  I  —  I  shall  be  strong  again,  in  a  minute." 

"You  must  be,"  I  whispered,  "for  their  lives  may 
depend  on  us." 

It  was  a  short  path  before  us  and  became  more  clearly 
defined  as  we  advanced.  A  sharp  turn  brought  us  into 
full  view  of  the  cabin,  which  stood  in  a  small  opening, 
built  against  the  sidehill,  and  so  overhung  with  trees  as 
to  be  invisible,  except  from  the  direction  of  our  approach. 
We  could  see  only  the  side  wall,  which  contained  one  open 
window,  and  was  a  one-room  affair,  low  and  flat-roofed, 
built  of  logs.  Its  outward  appearance  was  peaceful 
enough,  and  the  swift  beat  of  my  pulse  quieted  as  I  took 
rapid  survey  of  the  surroundings. 

"Sam,"  I  commanded,  "you  are  to  remain  here  with 
Rene,  while  I  learn  the  truth  yonder.  Yes,"  to  her  quick 
protest,  "that  will  be  the  better  way  —  there  is  no  danger 
and  I  shall  not  be  gone  but  for  a  moment.'* 


CABIN  OF  AMOS  SHRUNK  167 

I  seated  her  on  a  low  stump  and  left  them  there  to 
gether,  Sam's  eyes  rolling  about  in  a  frightened  effort  to 
perceive  every  covert  in  the  woods,  but  the  girl  satisfied 
to  watch  me  intently  as  I  moved  cautiously  forward.  A 
dozen  steps  brought  me  within  view  of  the  front  of  the 
cabin.  The  door  had  been  smashed  in  and  hung  dangling 
from  one  hinge.  Another  step,  now  with  a  pistol  gripped 
in  my  hand,  enabled  me  to  obtain  a  glimpse  within. 
Across  the  puncheon  threshold,  his  feet  even  protruding 
without,  lay  a  man's  body;  beyond  him,  half  concealed 
by  the  shadows  of  the  interior,  appeared  the  outlines  of 
another,  with  face  upturned  to  the  roof,  plainly  distin 
guishable  because  of  a  snow-white  beard. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    TRAIL   OF   THE   RAIDERS 

HOCKED  and  unmanned  as  I  was  at  this  discovery$ 
to  pause  there  staring  at  those  gruesome  figures 
would  have  only  brought  fresh  alarm  to  the  two  watch 
ing  my  every  movement  from  the  edge  of  the  clearing. 
Gripping  my  nerves  I  advanced  over  the  first  body,  watch 
ful  for  any  sign  of  the  presence  of  life  within  the  cabin. 
There  was  none  —  the  work  of  the  murder  had  been 
completed,  and  the  perpetrators  had  fled.  I  saw  the  entire 
interior  at  a  glance,  the  few  articles  of  rude,  hand-made 
furniture,  several  overturned,  the  fire  yet  smouldering 
on  the  hearth,  some  broken  crockery,  and  pewter  dishes 
on  the  floor,  and  on  every  side  the  evidences  of  a  fierce, 
brutal  struggle.  The  dead  man,  with  ghastly  countenance 
upturned  to  the  roof  rafters,  and  the  snowy  beard,  was 
undoubtedly  the  negro  helper,  Amos  Shrunk.  Pete's 
description  of  the  appearance  of  the  man  left  this  identifi 
cation  beyond  all  dispute.  He  had  been  stricken  down 
by  a  savage  blow,  which  had  literally  crushed  in  one  side 
of  his  head,  but  his  dead  hands  yet  gripped  a  rifle,  as 
though  he  had  fallen  fighting  to  the  last. 

The  other  man,  the  one  lying  across  the  threshold,  had 
been  shot,  although  I  did  not  ascertain  this  fact  until  after 
I  turned  the  body  over  sufficiently  to  reveal  the  face. 
This  was  disfigured  by  the  wound  and  covered  with 
blood,  so  that  the  features  could  scarcely  be  seen,  yet  I 

168 


TRAIL  OF  THE  RAIDERS  169 

instantly  recognized  the  fellow  —  Carver.  Surprised  out 
of  all  control  by  this  unexpected  discovery,  I  steadied 
myself  against  the  log  wall,  fully  aroused  to  the  sinister 
meaning  of  his  presence.  To  a  degree  the  complete 
significance  of  this  tragedy  instantly  gripped  my  mind. 
If  this  fellow  Carver  had  been  one  of  the  assailants,  then 
it  was  absolutely  certain  that  Kirby  must  have  also  been 
present  —  the  leader  of  the  attack.  This  inevitably  meant 
that  both  men  had  been  aboard  the  steamer,  and  later 
were  put  ashore  at  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois.  And  now, 
that  I  thought  about  it,  why  not?  It  was  no  accident, 
and  I  wondered  that  the  possibility  had  never  occurred 
to  me  before.  The  gambler  naturally  knew  all  the  gossip 
of  the  river,  and,  beyond  question,  he  would  be  aware  of 
the  reported  existence  of  this  underground  station  for 
runaway  slaves.  It  was  common  talk  as  far  down  as 
St.  Louis,  and  his  mind  would  instantly  revert  to  the 
possibility  that  the  fleeing  Rene  might  seek  escape  through 
the  assistance  of  Shrunk.  The  mysterious  vanishing  of 
the  boat  would  serve  to  increase  that  suspicion.  Even  if 
this  had  not  occurred  to  him  at  first,  the  steamer  would 
have  brought  news  that  no  keel-boat  had  been  seen  on 
the  lower  river,  while  the  captain  of  the  John  B.  Glover, 
or  someone  else  on  board,  would  have  been  sure  to  have 
mentioned  the  negro-helper  and  suggest  that  he  might 
have  had  a  hand  in  the  affair.  To  follow  that  trail  was, 
indeed,  the  most  natural  thing  for  Kirby  to  do. 

And  he  had  promptly  accepted  the  chance ;  blindly,  no 
doubt,  and  yet  guided  by  good  fortune.  He  had  not 
overtaken  Rene,  because  she  was  not  yet  there,  but  he  had 
unexpectedly  come  upon  the  other  fugitives,  and,  even 


170  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

though  the  encounter  had  cost  the  life  of  his  henchman, 
Carver,  it  also  resulted  in  the  death  of  two  men  who  had 
come  between  him  and  his  prey  —  the  negro,  and  the 
abolitionist.  The  scene  cleared  in  my  brain  and  became 
vivid  and  real.  I  could  almost  picture  in  detail  each  act 
of  the  grim  tragedy.  The  two  revengeful  trackers  —  if 
there  were  only  two  engaged,  for  others  might  have  been 
recruited  on  the  steamer — must  have  crept  up  to  the  hut 
in  the  night,  or  early  morning.  Possibly  Kirby  had 
learned  of  some  other  means  of  approach  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  big  river.  Anyway,  the  fact  that  Shrunk  had 
been  trapped  within  the  cabin  would  indicate  the  final 
attack  was  a  surprise.  The  negro  might  have  been  asleep 
outside,  and  met  his  death  in  an  attempt  at  escape,  but 
the  old  white  man,  finding  flight  impossible,  had  fought 
desperately  to  the  last  and  had  killed  one  antagonist 
before  receiving  his  death  blow.  This  was  all  plain 
enough,  but  what  had  become  of  Kirby,  of  the  two 
women  —  Eloise,  and  the  quadroon  mother? 

I  searched  the  cabin  without  uncovering  the  slightest 
trace  of  their  presence,  or  finding  a  single  article  which 
could  be  associated  with  them.  Kirby  himself  must  have 
fled  the  scene  of  the  tragedy  immediately  —  without  even 
pausing  long  enough  to  turn  his  companion  over  to  ascer 
tain  the  nature  of  his  wound.  Had  something  occurred 
to  frighten  him?  Had  the  fellow  fled  alone  back  to  a 
waiting  boat  at  the  shore,  perchance  seriously  injured 
himself  in  the  melee,  or  had  he  secured  the  two  women, 
and,  reckless  as  to  all  else,  driven  them  along  with  him 
to  some  place  of  concealment  until  they  could  be  trans 
ported  down  the  river?  Nothing  could  answer  these 


TRAIL  OF  THE  RAIDERS 171 

questions;   no   discovery   enabled   me   to   lift   the   veil 
Uncertain  what  to  do,  or  how  to  act,  I  could  only  return 
to  the  waiting  girl  and  the  negro  to  tell  them  what  I  had 
found. 

They  listened  as  though  scarcely  comprehending,  Sam 
uttering  little  moans  of  horror,  and  appearing  helpless 
from  fright,  but  Rene  quiet,  merely  exhibiting  her  emo 
tion  in  the  whiteness  of  her  face  and  quickened  breathing. 
Her  eyes,  wide-open,  questioning,  seemed  to  sense  my 
uncertainty.  As  I  ended  the  tale  and  concluded  with 
my  theory  as  to  what  had  occurred  following  the  deed 
of  blood,  her  quick  mind  asserted  itself. 

"But  this  must  have  happened  very  lately;  the  men 
were  not  long  dead  ?" 

"I  cannot  judge  how  long;  their  bodies  were  cold/' 

"Yet  the  fire  still  smouldered,  you  said.  When  do  you 
think  that  steamer  could  have  landed  here  ?" 

"Why,  perhaps  early  last  evening. ** 

"And  it  has  not  occurred  to  you  that  the  boat  might 
have  waited  here  while  the  man  Kirby  went  ashore?" 

"No;  that  could  scarcely  be  true,  if  the  steamer  was 
transporting  troops;  what  was  it  you  were  thinking 
about?" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands;  then  lifted  it  once 
more  to  mine,  with  a  new  conviction  in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  all  dark,  of  course,"  she  said  slowly,  "we  can 
only  guess  at  what  happened.  But  to  me  it  seems  im 
possible  that  the  man  Kirby  could  have  accomplished  all 
this  alone  —  without  assistance.  The  boat  we  saw  at  the 
landing  was  not  his ;  it  must  have  been  Pete's,  and  there  is 
no  evidence  of  any  other  trail  leading  here  from  the 


172  THE  DE  VIL'S  '  0  WN 

river.  If,  as  you  imagine,  he  knew  the  captain  of  that 
steamer,  and  some  of  the  other  men  aboard  were  Mis- 
sourians  and  defenders  of  slavery,  he  would  have  no 
trouble  in  enlisting  their  help  to  recover  his  runaway 
slaves.  They  would  be  only  too  glad  to  break  up  an 
abolitionist's  nest.  That  is  what  I  believe  has  happened ; 
they  came  ashore  in  a  party,  and  the  steamer  waited  for 
them.  Even  if  it  was  a  troop  boat,  the  captain  could 
easily  make  excuses  for  an  hour's  delay." 

"And  you  think  the  prisoners  were  taken  along?  Yet 
Kirby  would  not  want  to  transport  them  up  the  river." 

"As  to  that,"  she  insisted,  "he  could  not  help  himself. 
He  needed  to  get  away  quickly,  and  there  were  no  other 
means  available.  He  could  only  hope  to  connect  later 
with  some  craft  south-bound  on  which  to  return.  There 
are  keel-boats  and  barges  always  floating  down  stream 
from  the  mines.  He  dare  not  remain  here ;  that  was  why 
they  were  in  such  haste ;  why,  they  did  not  even  wait  to 
bury  the  bodies." 

"You  may  be  right,"  I  admitted,  impressed,  yet  not 
wholly  convinced.  "But  what  can  we  do?" 

She  looked  at  me  reproachfully. 

"You  should  not  ask  that  of  a  girl." 

The  words  stung  me. 

"No;  this  is  my  task.  I  was  thoughtlessly  cruel. 
Neither  can  we  remain  here,  only  long  enough  to  bury 
those  bodies.  It  would  be  inhuman  not  to  do  that.  Sam, 
there  is  an  old  spade  leaning  against  the  cabin  wall  —  go 
over  and  get  it." 

"Ah  awn't  goin'  fer  ter  tetch  no  daid  man,  sah." 

"I'll  attend  to  that ;  all  you  need  do  is  dig.    Over  there 


TRAIL  OF  THE  RAIDERS  173 

at  the  edge  of  the  wood  will  answer,  and  we  shall  have  to 
place  all  three  in  one  grave  —  we  can  do  no  more." 

He  started  on  his  mission  reluctantly  enough,  glancing 
constantly  backward  over  his  shoulder  to  insure  himself 
of  our  presence,  and  carefully  avoiding  any  approach  to 
the  open  door. 

"Am  I  to  simply  remain  here?"  the  girl  asked,  as  I 
took  the  first  step  to  follow  him.  "Can  I  not  be  of  some 
help?" 

"I  think  not ;  I  can  get  along  very  nicely.  It  is  not  a 
pleasant  sight  inside.  Here  is  the  best  place  for  you,  as 
it  might  not  be  safe  for  you  to  go  any  further  away.  We 
do  not  know  positively  where  those  men  have  gone.  They 
might  be  hiding  somewhere  in  the  woods.  You  can  turn 
away  and  face  the  forest,  so  as  to  see  nothing.  We  shall 
not  be  long." 

"And  —  and,"  she  faltered,  "what  will  be  done  after 
that?" 

"I  will  endeavor  to  think  out  some  plan.  I  confess  I 
do  not  yet  know  what  will  be  best.  To  remain  here  is,  of 
course,  impossible,  while  to  return  down  the  river  means 
certain  capture.  Perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  suggest 
something." 

Unpleasant  as  our  task  was,  it  proved  to  be  less  diffi 
cult  of  accomplishment  than  I  had  anticipated.  There 
were  blankets  in  the  cabin  bunks,  and  in  these  I  wrapped 
the  bodies.  They  were  too  heavy,  however,  for  me  to 
trpnsport  alone,  and  it  required  some  threatening  to 
induce  Sam  to  give  me  the  assistance  necessary  to  deposit 
them  in  the  shallow  grave.  Only  the  fear  that  I  would 
not  have  him  with  us  longer  compelled  his  joining  me. 


174  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

He  was  more  frightened  at  the  thought  of  being  left 
alone  than  of  contact  with  the  dead.  In  bearing  Pete's 
body  from  where  it  lay  in  the  woods,  we  were  compelled 
to  pass  by  near  where  Rene  sat,  but  she  kept  her  eyes 
averted,  and  I  experienced  no  desire  to  address  her  with 
empty  words.  Sam  filled  in  the  loose  earth,  rounding  it 
into  form,  and  the  two  of  us  stood  above  the  fresh  mound, 
our  bent  heads  bared  to  the  sunlight,  while  I  endeavored 
to  repeat  brokenly  a  few  words  of  prayer.  As  I  finally 
turned  gladly  away,  it  was  to  note  that  the  girl  had  risen 
to  her  feet  and  stood  motionless,  with  face  toward  us. 
Her  attitude  and  expression  is  still  in  memory  the  one 
clear  remembrance  of  the  scene.  My  inclination  was  to 
join  her  at  once,  but  I  knew  that  the  negro  would  never 
enter  the  cabin  alone,  and  now  our  first  necessity  was 
food.  Of  this  I  found  a  fair  supply,  and,  compelling 
him  to  assist  me,  we  hastily  prepared  a  warm  meal  over 
the  open  fire.  It  was  eaten  without,  no  one  of  us  desiring 
to  remain  in  the  midst  of  that  scene  of  death;  and  the 
very  knowledge  that  the  dreaded  burial  was  completed 
and  that  we  were  now  free  to  depart,  brought  to  all  of 
us  a  renewed  courage. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  by  this  time,  the 
golden  light  brightening  the  little  clearing  and  dissipat 
ing  the  gloom  of  the  surrounding  forest.  All  suspicion 
that  the  murderer,  or  murderers,  might  still  remain  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  their  crime  had  entirely 
deserted  my  mind.  Where,  and  by  what  means,  they  had 
fled  could  not  be  determined,  but  I  felt  assured  they  were 
no  longer  near  by.  I  had  sought  in  vain  for  any  other 
path  than  the  one  we  had  followed  from  the  mouth  of 


TRAIL  OF  THE  RAIDERS  175 

the  creek,  while  the- suggestion  which  Rene  had  advanced, 
that  the  steamer  had  tied  up  to  the  shore,  permitting  the 
raiding  party  to  land,  grew  more  and  more  plausible  to 
my  mind.  It  scarcely  seemed  probable  that  one  man 
alone,  or  even  two  men,  had  committed  this  crime,  and 
the  sole  survivor  disappear  so  completely  with  the  pris 
oners.  I  had  turned  each  detail  over  and  over  in  my 
thought,  while  I  worked,  yet  to  but  little  purpose.  The 
only  present  solution  of  the  problem  seemed  to  be  our 
return  to  that  hidden  basin  where  our  boat  lay,  and  the 
remaining  there  in  concealment  until  the  darkness  of 
another  night  rendered  it  safe  to  once  more  venture  upon 
the  river.  Perhaps  during  those  intervening  hours,  we 
might,  by  conferring  together,  decide  our  future  course; 
some  new  thought  might  guide  us  in  the  right  direction, 
or  some  occurrence  drive  us  into  definite  action. 

I  spoke  of  this  to  her,  as  I  finally  approached  where 
she  rested  on  the  stump,  eager  and  glad  to  escape  from 
all  memories  of  that  somber  cabin  I  had  just  left.  She 
stood  before  me,  listening  quietly,  her  eyes  lifting  to  my 
face,  as  though  she  sought  to  read  there  the  exact  mean 
ing  of  my  words. 

"You  —  you  are  no  longer  so  confident,"  she  said, 
"your  plan  has  failed?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  has,"  I  admitted,  "for  it  was  based 
altogether  on  the  assistance  of  Amos  Shrunk.  He  is  no 
longer  alive,  and  I  do  not  know  wrhere  to  turn  for  guid 
ance.  There  would  seem  to  be  danger  in  every  direc 
tion;  the  only  question  is  —  in  which  way  lies  the  least?" 

"You  begin  to  regret  your  attempt  to  aid  me  ?" 

"No,"  impulsively.     "So  far  as  that  goes,  I  would  do 


176  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

it  all  over  again.     Your  safety  means  more  to  me  now 
than  ever  before — you  must  believe  that." 

"Why  should  I?  All  I  have  brought  you  is  trouble. 
I  can  read  in  your  face  how  discouraged  you  are.  You 
must  not  think  I  do  not  understand.  I  do  understand  — 
perfectly.  I  can  see  how  all  this  has  happened.  You 
cannot  really  care.  What  you  have  done  has  been  only 
a  response  to  impulse ;  merely  undertaken  through  a  spirit 
of  adventure.  Then  —  then  why  not  let  it  end  here,  and 

—  Sam  and  I  can  go  on  to  —  to  whatever  is  before  us? 
It  is  nothing  to  you." 

"You  actually  believe  I  would  consent  to  that?"  I 
asked,  in  startled  surprise  at  the  vehemence  of  her  words. 
"That  I  could  prove  such  a  cur?" 

"But  why  not?  It  would  not  be  a  cowardly  act  at  all. 
I  could  not  blame  you,  for  I  have  no  claim  on  your  service 

—  never  have  had.    You  have  done  a  thousand  times  too 
much  already;  you  have  risked  honor,  reputation,  and 
neglected  duty  to  aid  my  escape ;  and  —  and  I  am  nothing 
to  you  —  can  be  nothing." 

"Nothing  to  me!" 

"Certainly  not.  Why  speak  like  that?  Have  you  for 
gotten  again  that  I  am  a  slave  —  a  negress?  Think, 
Lieutenant  Knox,  what  it  would  mean  to  you  to  be  caught 
in  my  company;  to  be  overtaken  while  attempting  to 
assist  me  in  escaping  from  my  master.  Now  no  one 
dreams  of  such  a  thing,  and  no  one  ever  need  dream. 
You  have  had  your  adventure ;  let  it  end  here.  I  shall  be 
grateful  to  you  always,  but  —  but  I  cannot  bear  to  drag 
you  deeper  into  this  mire." 

"You  order  me  to  leave  you?" 


TRAIL  OF  THE  RAIDERS 177 

"I  cannot  order;  I  am  a  slave.  My  only  privilege  is 
to  request,  urge,  implore.  I  can  merely  insist  that  it  will 
be  best  —  best  for  us  both — for  you  to  go.  Surely  you 
also  must  realize  that  this  is  true?" 

"I  do  not  know  exactly  what  I  realize,"  I  said  doubt 
fully.  "Nothing  seems  altogether  clear  in  my  mind.  If 
I  could  leave  you  in  safety,  in  the  care  of  friends,  perhaps 
I  should  not  hesitate  —  but  now — " 

"Am  I  any  worse  off  than  the  others?"  she  interrupted. 
"I,  at  least,  have  yet  the  chance  of  escape,  while  they 
remain  helplessly  in  Kirby's  clutches.  When  —  when  I 
think  of  them,  I  no  longer  care  about  myself;  I  —  I  feel 
almost  responsible  for  their  fate,  and  —  and  it  would  kill 
me  to  know  that  I  had  dragged  you  down  also.  You 
have  no  right  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  such  as  I." 

"You  have  been  brooding  over  all  this,"  I  said  gently, 
"sitting  here  alone,  and  thinking  while  we  worked.  I  am 
not  going  to  answer  you  now.  There  is  no  need.  Nothing 
can  be  done  until  night,  whatever  we  decide  upon.  You 
will  go  back  with  us  to  the  boat?" 

"Yes ;  I  simply  cannot  stay  here,"  her  eyes  wandering 
toward  the  cabin. 

I  took  the  lead  on  the  return,  finding  the  path  easy 
enough  to  follow  in  the  full  light  of  day.  The  sincere 
honesty  of  her  plea — the  knowledge  that  she  actually 
meant  it  —  only  served  to  draw  me  closer,  to  strengthen 
my  determination  not  to  desert.  Her  face  was  ever 
before  me  as  I  advanced  —  a  bravely  pathetic  face,  won 
derfully  womanly  in  its  girlish  contour  —  appealing  to 
every  impulse  of  my  manhood.  I  admitted  the  truth  of 
what  she  said  —  it  had  been  largely  love  of  adventure, 


178  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

the  rash  recklessness  of  youth,  which  had  brought  me 
here.  But  this  was  my  inspiration  no  longer.  I  had 
begun  to  realize  that  something  deeper,  more  worthy, 
now  held  me  to  the  task.  What  this  was  I  made  no 
attempt  to  analyze  —  possibly  I  did  not  dare  —  but, 
nevertheless,  the  mere  conception  of  deserting  her  in  the 
midst  of  this  wilderness  was  too  utterly  repugnant  for 
expression.  No,  not  that;  whatever  happened,  it  would 
never  be  that. 

The  last  few  rods  of  our  journey  lay  through  thick 
underbrush,  and  beneath  the  spreading  branches  of  inter 
lacing  trees.  It  was  a  gloomy,  primitive  spot,  where  no 
evidence  of  man  was  apparent.  Suddenly  I  emerged 
upon  the  bank  of  the  creek,  with  the  rude  log  wharf 
directly  before  me.  I  could  hear  in  that  silence  the  sound 
of  those  following,  as  they  continued  to  crunch  a  passage 
through  the  thicket,  but  I  stopped  transfixed,  staring  at 
the  water  —  nothing  else  greeted  my  eyes ;  both  the  boats 
were  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WE  FACE  DISASTER 

unexpected  discovery  came  to  me  like  a  blow; 
the  very  breath  seemed  to  desert  my  lungs,  as  I 
stared  down  at  the  vacant  stream.  We  had  been  out 
generaled,  tricked,  and  all  our  theories  as  to  what  had 
occurred  were  wrong.  The  duty  we  had  performed  to 
the  dead  had  cost  us  our  own  chance  to  escape.  Instead 
of  being  alone,  as  we  had  supposed,  we  were  in  the  midst 
of  enemies;  we  had  been  seen,  watched,  and  while  we 
loitered  ashore,  the  murderers  had  stolen  our  boat  and 
vanished,  leaving  us  there  helplessly  marooned.  All  this 
was  plain  enough  now,  when  it  was  already  too  late  to 
remedy  the  evil.  The  struggling  girl  emerged  through 
the  tangle  of  shrubs,  and  paused  suddenly  at  my  side, 
her  lips  giving  utterance  to  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"The  —  the  boat !    It  is  not  here  ?" 

"No;  there  is  not  a  sign  of  it.  Those  fellows  must  be 
still  in  the  neighborhood;  must  have  seen  us  when  we 
first  came." 

"But,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

I  had  no  ready  answer,  yet  the  echo  of  utter  despair  in 
her  voice  stirred  me  to  my  own  duty  as  swiftly  as  though 
she  had  thrust  a  knife  into  my  side.  Do?  We  must  do 
something!  We  could  not  sit  down  idly  there  in  the 
swamp.  And  to  decide  what  was  to  be  attempted  was  my 
part.  If  Kirby,  and  whoever  was  with  him,  had  stolen 

179 


180  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

the  missing  boat,  as  undoubtedly  they  had,  they  could 
have  possessed  but  one  purpose  —  escape.  They  were 
inspired  to  the  act  by  a  desire  to  get  away,  to  flee  from 
the  scene  of  their  crime.  They  must  believe  that  we  were 
left  helpless,  unable  to  pursue  them,  or  create  alarm.  Yet 
if  it  was  Kirby,  why  had  he  fled  so  swiftly,  making  no 
effort  to  take  Rene  captive  also?  It  was  she  he  was 
seeking;  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  possession  of  her 
these  murders  had  been  committed.  Why,  then,  should 
he  run  away  when  he  must  have  known  the  girl  was 
already  in  his  grasp?  The  same  thought  apparently 
occurred  to  her. 

"You  —  you  believe  that  Kirby  did  this?" 

"What  other  conclusion  is  possible  ?  We  know  that  he 
passed  us  on  the  steamer  —  Sam  saw  him  plainly.  It 
was  his  man,  Carver,  whom  we  found  dead  in  the  hut. 
It  could  have  been  no  one  else." 

"But,"  she  questioned,  unsatisfied,  "he  would  have 
only  one  reason  for  being  here  —  hunting  me,  his  slave. 
That  was  his  one  purpose,  was  it  not?  If  he  saw  us,  then 
he  must  have  known  of  my  presence,  that  I  was  here  with 
you.  Why  should  he  make  no  attempt  to  take  me  with 
him?  Why  should  he  steal  our  boat  and  run  away?" 

I  shook  my  head,  my  glance  shifting  toward  the  negro, 
who  stood  just  behind  us,  his  mouth  wide  open,  evidently 
smitten  speechless. 

"One  theory  is  as  good  as  another,"  I  said,  "and  mine 
so  far  have  all  been  wrong.  What  do  you  make  of  it, 
Sam?" 

"Who,  sah?    Me,  sah?" 

"Yes,  take  a  guess  at  this." 


WE  FACE  DISASTER 181 

"  'Pears  like,"  he  said,  deliberately,  rubbing  his  ear 
with  one  hand,  "as  how  it  mought  hav'  happen'd  dis  yere 
way,  sah.  Ah  ain't  a'  sayin'  it  wits,  it  mought  be.  Maybe 
Massa  Kirby  nebber  got  no  sight  ob  us  'tall,  an'  wus 
afeerd  fer  ter  stay.  He  just  know'd  a  party  wus  yere  — 
likely  'nough  sum  Black  Abolitionists,  who'd  be  huntin' 
him  if  he  didn't  cl'ar  out,  just  so  soon  as  dey  foun'  dat 
Amos  Shrunk  wus  ded.  Her'  wus  his  chance,  an'  he 
done  took  it." 

"Yet  he  would  surely  recognize  the  boat  ?" 

"Yas,  sah;  Ah  reckon  he  wud,  sah.  Dat's  de  truth, 
whut  stumps  me.  Dat  white  man  am  certenly  full  o' 
tricks.  Ah  sure  wish  Ah  know'd  just  whar  he  wus  now. 
Ah'd  certenly  feel  a  heap  easier  if  Ah  did."  Ke  bent 
suddenly  forward,  his  glance  at  the  edge  of  the  log. 
"Dey  ain't  took  but  just  de  one  boat,  sah,  fer  de  odder 
am  shoved  under  dar  out'r  sight." 

As  I  stooped  further  over  I  saw  that  this  was  true,  the 
small  rowboat,  with  the  oars  undisturbed  in  its  bottom, 
had  been  pressed  in  beneath  the  concealment  of  the  log 
wharf,  almost  completely  hidden  from  above,  yet  to  all 
appearances  uninjured.  The  very  fact  that  it  should 
have  been  thus  left  only  added  to  the  mystery  of  the 
affair.  If  it  had  been  Kirby 's  deliberate  purpose  to  leave 
us  there  stranded  ashore,  why  had  he  failed  to  crush  in 
the  boat's  planking  with  a  rock?  Could  the  leaving  of 
the  craft  in  fit  condition  for  our  use  be  part  of  some  care 
fully  conceived  plan ;  a  bait  to  draw  us  into  some  set  trap  ? 
Or  did  it  occur  merely  as  an  incident  of  their  hurried 
flight  ?  These  were  unanswerable  questions,  yet  the  mere 
knowledge  that  the  boat  was  actually  there  and  in 


182 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

navigable  condition,  promised  us  an  opportunity  to 
escape.  While  hope  remained,  however  vague,  it  was 
not  my  nature  to  despair.  Whether  accident  or  design 
had  been  the  cause,  made  no  odds  —  I  was  willing  to 
match  my  wits  against  Kirby  and  endeavor  to  win.  And 
I  must  deal  with  facts,  just  as  they  were. 

"It  is  my  guess,"  I  said,  "that  their  only  thought  was 
to  get  away  before  the  crime  was  discovered.  The  leav 
ing  of  this  boat  means  nothing,  because  the  steam- 
operated  keel-boat  they  escaped  in,  could  never  be  over 
taken,  once  they  had  a  fair  start.  If  Kirby  was  alone  in 
this  affair,  and  had  those  two  women  in  his  charge, 
getting  away  would  be  about  all  he  could  attend  to.  He'd 
hardly  dare  leave  them  long  enough  to  sink  this  craft. 
But  what  does  he  know  about  running  an  engine?" 

"Ah  reckon  as  how  he  cud,  sah,  if  he  just  had  to," 
interposed  the  negro.  "He  wus  a'  foolin'  mor'  or  les'  wid 
dat  one  a'  comin'  up  f rum  Saint  Louee ;  an'  he  sure  ask'd 
me  a  big  lot  o'  questions.  He  done  seemed  right  handy ; 
he  sure  did." 

"Then  that  probably  is  the  explanation.  Rene,  would 
you  be  afraid  to  remain  here  alone  for  a  little  while?" 

She  glanced  about  into  the  gloom  of  the  surrounding 
woods,  her  hesitancy  answering  me. 

"It  is  not  a  pleasant  prospect  I  admit,  but  there  is  no 
possible  danger.  Kirby  has  gone,  beyond  all  question, 
but  I  wish  to  learn,  if  I  can,  the  direction  he  has  taken. 
All  this  must  have  happened  only  a  short  time  ago  — 
while  we  were  at  the  cabin.  The  keel-boat  can  scarcely 
be  entirely  out  of  sight  yet  on  either  river,  if  we  could 
only  find  a  place  to  offer  us  a  wide  view." 


WE  FACE  DISASTER 183 

"But  could  I  not  go  with  you  ?" 

"Hardly  with  me,  for  I  intend  to  swim  the  creek  and 
try  to  reach  the  point  at  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois,  from 
where  I  can  see  up  and  down  the  Mississippi.  I  am  going 
to  send  Sam  back  through  the  woods  there  and  have  him 
climb  that  ridge.  From  the  top  he  ought  to  have  a  good 
view  up  the  valley  of  the  Illinois.  I  suppose  you  might 
go  with  him." 

"Ah  sure  wish  yer  wud,  Missus,"  broke  in  the  negro 
pleadingly.  "Ah  ain't  perzackly  feered  fer  ter  go  'lone, 
but  Ah's  an'  ol'  man,  an'  Ah  reckon  as  how  a  y'ung  gal 
wus  likely  fer  ter  see  mor'n  Ah  wud.  Tears  like  Ah's 
done  los'  my  glasses." 

A  faint  smile  lighted  up  her  face  —  a  mere  glimmer  of 
a  smile. 

"Yes,  Sam,  I'll  go,"  she  said,  glancing  up  into  my  eyes 
and  holding  out  her  hand.  "You  wish  me  to,  do  you 
not?" 

"I  think  it  will  be  fully  as  well.  I  have  some  doubts 
as  to  Sam,  but  can  absolutely  trust  you.  Besides  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done  here.  I  shall  not  use  the  boat,  then 
if  anyone  does  chance  this  way,  they  will  find  nothing 
disturbed.  You  still  retain  the  pistol  ?" 

She  nodded  her  response  and  without  delaying  my 
departure  longer,  I  lowered  myself  into  the  water  and 
swam  toward  the  opposite  shore,  creeping  forth  amid  a 
tangle  of  roots,  and  immediately  disappearing  in  the 
underbrush.  Sam  had  already  vanished,  as  I  paused  an 
instant  to  glance  back,  but  she  lingered  at  the  edge  of 
the  wood  to  wave  her  hand.  I  found  a  rough  passage 
for  the  first  few  rods,  being  obliged  to  almost  tear  a  way 


184  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

through  the  close  growth  and  unable  to  see  a  yard  in 
advance.  But  this  ended  suddenly  at  the  edge  of  the  sand 
flat,  with  the  converging  waters  of  the  t\vo  rivers  visible 
just  beyond.  My  view  from  here  was  narrowed,  how 
ever,  by  high  ridges  on  both  sides,  and,  with  a  desire  not 
to  expose  myself  to  any  chance  eye,  I  followed  the  line 
of  forest  until  able  to  climb  the  slope,  and  thus  attain  the 
crest  of  the  bluff. 

From  this  vantage  point  the  view  was  extensive,  both 
up  and  down  the  big  river,  as  well  as  across  to  the  oppo 
site  bank.  For  miles  nothing  could  escape  my  eyes,  the 
mighty  stream  sweeping  majestically  past  where  I  lay, 
liquid  silver  in  the  sunshine.  Its  tremendous  volume 
had  never  so  impressed  me  as  in  that  moment  of  silent 
observation,  nor  had  I  ever  realized  before  its  sublime 
desolation.  Along  that  entire  surface  but  three  objects 
met  my  gaze  —  a  small  island,  green  with  trees,  seem 
ingly  anchored  just  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois;  a 
lumbering  barge  almost  opposite  me,  clearly  outlined 
against  the  distant  shore,  and  barely  moving  with  the 
current;  and  far  away  below  a  thin  smudge  of  smoke, 
arising  from  behind  a  headland,  as  though  curling  up 
ward  from  the  stack  of  some  steamer.  I  watched  this 
closely,  until  convinced  the  craft  was  bound  down  stream 
and  moving  swiftly.  The  smudge  became  a  mere  whisp 
and  finally  vanished  entirely.  I  wraited  some  time  for  the 
vessel  to  appear  at  the  lower  end  of  the  bend,  but  it  was 
then  only  a  speck,  scarcely  distinguishable.  I  felt  no 
doubt  but  what  this  was  the  stolen  keel-boat,  speeding 
toward  St.  Louis. 

Armed,  as  I  believed,  with  this  knowledge  that  Kirby 


WE  FACE  DISASTER  185 


had  actually  fled,  beyond  any  possibility  of  doing  us  any 
further  injury,  I  did  not  hurry  my  return,  but  remained 
for  some  time  on  the  bluff,  watching  those  rushing 
waters,  and  endeavoring  to  outline  some-  feasible  plan 
for  the  coming  night.  With  this  final  disappearance  of 
the  gambler  we  were  left  free  to  proceed,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  with  no  great  danger  of  arousing  suspicion,  so 
long  as  we  exercised  reasonable  precautions.  The  girl 
to  all  appearances  was  white ;  no  one  would  ever  question 
that,  particularly  as  she  possessed  sufficient  intelligence 
and  refinement  to  thus  impress  anyone  she  might  meet. 
If  necessary  \ve  might  travel  as  man  and  wife,  with  Sam 
as  our  servant.  Our  means  of  travel  would  attract  no 
particular  attention  in  that  country  —  the  edge  of  the 
wilderness;  it  was  common  enough.  This  struck  me  as 
the  most  reasonable  course  to  pursue  —  to  work  our  way 
quietly  up  the  Illinois  by  night,  keeping  close  in  shore  to 
avoid  any  passing  steamer,  until  we  arrived  close  to 
Beardstown.  There,  if  necessary,  we  might  begin  our 
masquerade,  but  it  need  not  be  a  long  one.  Undoubtedly 
there  were  blacks  in  the  town,  both  slaves  and  free 
negroes,  with  whom  Sam  could  easily  establish  an  ac 
quaintance.  By  this  means  we  would  soon  be  able  to 
identify  that  particular  preacher  into  whose  care  I  hoped 
to  confide  Rene.  Of  course,  the  girl  might  refuse  to 
enter  into  the  game,  might  decline  to  assume  the  role 
assigned  her,  however  innocent  I  intended  it  to  be  — 
indeed,  I  felt  convinced  she  would  meet  the  suggestion 
with  indignation.  But  why  worry  about  that  now  ?  Let 
this  be  kept  as  a  last  resort.  There  was  no  necessity  for 
me  to  even  mention  this  Dart  of  mv  plan  until  after  our 


186  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

approach  to  Beardstown;  then  the  necessity  of  our  going 
forward  with  it  might  be  so  apparent,  she  could  not 
refuse  to  carry  out  her  part.  With  this  point  thus  settled 
in  my  own  mind  I  felt  ready  to  rejoin  the  others. 

I  must  have  been  absent  in  the  neighborhood  of  two 
hours,  and  they  had  returned  to  the  bank  of  the  creek 
some  time  in  advance  of  me.  As  I  appeared  at  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  Sam  hailed,  offering  to  row  the  boat  across. 

"All  right/*  I  replied,  confident  we  were  alone.  "It 
will  save  me  another  wetting.  You  saw  nothing  ?" 

"No,  sah;  leastways,  not  much,"  busily  fitting  the  oars 
into  the  row-locks.  "We  cud  see  up  de  Illinois  mor'n 
ten  mile,  Ah  reckon,  but  dar  wan't  no  boat  nowhar, 
'cepting  an  oF  scow  tied  up  ter  de  bank." 

"I  thought  so.  The  keel-boat  has  gone  down  the 
Mississippi." 

"Yer  done  saw  her,  sah?" 

"I  saw  her  smoke;  she  was  hidden  by  a  big  bend  just 
below.  Don't  sit  there  staring  at  me  —  come  across." 

Rene  greeted  me  with  a  smile,  as  I  scrambled  up  on 
the  slippery  log,  and  asked  a  number  of  questions.  I 
answered  these  as  best  I  could  and  then  explained,  so  far 
as  I  deemed  it  desirable,  the  general  nature  of  the  plans 
I  had  made.  Both  she  and  the  listening  negro  in  the  boat 
below  agreed  that  the  safer  course  for  us  to  choose  led 
up  the  Illinois,  because  every  mile  traversed  in  that  direc 
tion  brought  us  nearer  the  goal  sought,  and  among  those 
who  were  the  enemies  of  slavery.  To  proceed  northward 
along  the  Mississippi  would  only  serve  to  plunge  us  into 
an  unbroken  wilderness,  already  threatened  by  Indian 
war,  while  to  venture  down  that  stream  meant  almost 


WE  FACE  DISASTER 187 

certain  capture.  The  Illinois  route  offered  the  only  hope, 
and  we  decided  to  venture  it,  although  Rene  pleaded 
earnestly  that  she  and  the  negro  be  permitted  to  go  on 
alone.  To  this  suggestion,  however,  I  would  not  con 
sent,  and  the  girl  finally  yielded  her  reluctant  permission 
for  me  to  accompany  them  until  she  could  be  safely  left 
in  the  care  of  white  friends. 

She  took  anxious  part  in  our  discussion,  bravely  en 
deavoring  to  hide  the  anguish  she  felt,  yet  I  knew  her 
real  thought  was  elsewhere  —  with  those  two  in  Kirby's 
hands,  already  well  on  their  way  to  St.  Louis.  Try  as 
she  would  she  was  unable  to  banish  from  her  mind  the 
conception  that  she  was  largely  to  blame  for  their  mis 
fortune,  or  submerge  the  idea  that  it  was  cowardly  in 
her  to  seek  escape,  while  leaving  them  in  such  peril.  I 
lingered,  talking  with  her  for  some  time  after  Sam  had 
fallen  asleep,  yet  the  only  result  was  the  bringing  of  tears 
to  her  eyes  and  a  reluctantly  given  pledge  that  she  would 
do  whatever  I  believed  to  be  best  and  right.  The  girl 
was  not  wholly  convinced  by  my  argument,  but  no  other 
course  of  action  seemed  open  to  her.  She  appeared  so 
tired  and  worn  that  I  left  her  at  last  in  the  little  glade 
where  we  had  found  refuge,  hoping  she  might  fall  asleep. 
I  doubt  if  she  did,  although  I  dozed  irregularly,  my  back 
against  a  tree,  and  it  was  already  growing  dusk  when 
she  came  forth  again  from  her  retreat,  and  joined  us  in 
a  hastily  prepared  meal. 

Sam  and  I  stowed  away  in  the  boat  whatever  provender 
remained,  and  I  assisted  her  to  a  seat  at  the  stern,  wrap 
ping  a  blanket  carefully  about  her  body,  for  the  night  air 
in  those  dank  shadows  already  began  to  chill.  I  took 


188  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

possession  of  the  oars  myself,  believing  the  negro  would 
serve  best  as  a  lookout  in  the  bow,  and  thus  settled  we 
headed  the  boat  out  through  the  tangle  of  trees  toward 
the  invisible  river.  The  silent  gloom  of  night  shut  about 
us  in  an  impenetrable  veil,  and  we  simply  had  to  feel  our 
slow  way  to  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  Sam  calling  back 
directions,  and  pressing  aside  the  branches  that  impeded 
progress.  I  sat  facing  the  motionless  girl,  but  could 
barely  distinguish  her  shapeless  form,  wrapped  in  the 
blanket;  and  not  once  did  her  voice  break  the  stillness. 
The  night  hung  heavy;  not  even  the  gentle  ripple  of 
water  disturbed  the  solemn  silence  of  our  slow  progress. 
Suddenly  we  shot  out  through  the  screen  of  conceal 
ing  boughs  into  the  broader  stream  beyond,  and  I  strug 
gled  hastily  to  swerve  the  boat's  bow  upward  against  the 
current.  The  downward  sweep  of  the  water  at  this 
point  was  not  particularly  strong,  the  main  channel  being 
some  distance  further  out,  and  we  were  soon  making 
perceptible  progress.  The  light  here  in  the  open  was 
better,  although  dim  enough  still,  and  revealing  little  of 
our  surroundings.  All  was  wrapped  in  gloom  along 
shore,  and  beyond  the  radius  of  a  few  yards  no  objects 
could  be  discerned.  The  river  itself  swept  past  us,  a 
hidden  mystery.  Sam  knelt  on  his  knees,  peering  eagerly 
forward  into  the  blackness,  an  occasional  growl  of  his 
^oice  the  only  evidence  of  his  presence.  I  doubt  if  I 
had  taken  a  dozen  strokes,  my  whole  attention  centered 
on  my  task,  when  the  sudden  rocking  of  the  boat  told 
me  he  had  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Almost  at  the  same 
instant  my  ears  distinguished  the  sharp  chugging  of  an 
•engine  straight  ahead;  then  came  his  shout  of  alarm, 


WE  FACE  DISASTER  189 

"God,  A'mighty!     Bar's  de  keel-boat,  sah.     Dey's  goin' 
fer  ter  ram  us!" 

I  twisted  about  in  my  seat,  caught  a  vague  glimpse  of 
the  advancing  shadow,  and  leaped  to  my  feet,  an  oar 
gripped  in  my  hands.  Scarcely  was  I  poised  to  strike, 
when  the  speeding  prow  ripped  into  us,  and  I  was  cata 
pulted  into  the  black  water. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  LOSS  OF  RENE 

/T^HERE  was  the  echo  of  an  oath,  a  harsh,  cruel  laugh, 
-••  the  crash  of  planking,  a  strange,  half -human  cry 
of  fright  from  the  negro  —  that  was  all.  The  sudden 
violence  of  the  blow  must  have  hurled  me  high  into  the 
air,  for  I  struck  the  water  clear  of  both  boats,  and  so 
far  out  in  the  stream,  that  when  I  came  again  struggling 
to  the  surface,  I  was  in  the  full  sweep  of  the  current, 
against  which  I  had  to  struggle  desperately.  In  the 
brief  second  that  intervened  between  Sam's  shout  of 
warning,  and  the  crash  of  the  two  boats,  I  had  seen 
almost  nothing — only  that  black,  menacing  hulk,  loom 
ing  up  between  us  and  the  shore,  more  like  a  shadow  than 
a  reality.  Yet  now,  fighting  to  keep  my  head  above 
water,  and  not  to  be  swept  away,  I  was  able  to  realize 
instantly  what  had  occurred.  I  had  been  mistaken; 
Kirby  had  not  fled  down  the  river;  instead  he  had  craftily 
waited  this  chance  to  attack  us  at  a  disadvantage.  Con 
vinced  that  we  would  decide  to  make  use  of  the  rowboat, 
which  he  had  left  uninjured  for  that  very  purpose,  and 
that  we  would  venture  forth  just  so  soon  as  the  night 
became  dark  enough,  he  had  hidden  the  stolen  craft  in 
some  covert  along  shore,  to  await  our  coming.  Then 
he  sprang  on  us,  as  the  tiger  leaps  on  his  prey.  He  had 
calculated  well,  for  the  blunt  prow  of  the  speeding  keel- 
boat  had  struck  us  squarely,  crushing  in  the  sides  of  our 
frail  craft,  and  flinging  me  headlong. 

190 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE  191 

What  had  become  the  fate  of  the  others  I  could  not 
for  the  moment  determine.  I  could  see  little,  with  eyes 
scarcely  above  the  surface,  and  struggling  hard  to  breast 
the  sweep  of  the  current.  The  darkness  shadowed 
everything,  the  bulk  of  the  keel-boat  alone  appearing  in 
the  distance,  and  that,  shapelessly  outlined.  The  craft 
bore  no  light,  and  had  it  not  been  for  a  voice  speaking, 
I  doubt  if  I  could  have  located  even  that.  The  rowboat 
could  not  be  distinguished  —  it  must  have  sunken,  or 
else  drifted  away,  a  helpless  wreck.  The  first  sound  my 
ears  caught,  echoing  across  the  water,  was  an  oath,  and 
a  question,  "By  God!  a  good  job;  do  you  see  that  fel 
low  anywhere?" 

"Naw,"  the  response  a  mere  growl.  "He's  a  goner,  I 
reckon;  never  knowed  whut  hit  him,  jedgin'  frum  the 
way  he  upended  it." 

"Well,  then  he  isn't  likely  to  bother  us  any  more.  Sup 
pose  he  was  the  white  man?'' 

"Sure  he  wus;  it  wus  the  nigger  who  was  up  ahead. 
We  hit  him,  an'  he  dropped  in  'tween  ther  boats,  an' 
went  down  like  a  stone.  He  never  yeeped  but  just  onct, 
when  I  furst  gripped  ther  girl.  I  don't  reckon  as  she 
wus  hurt  et  all ;  leastwise  I  never  aimed  f er  ter  hurt  her 
none." 

"Has  she  said  anything?" 

"Not  a  damned  twitter;  maybe  she's  fainted.  I  dunno, 
but  that's  ther  way  females  do.  What  shall  I  do  with 
the  bird,  Kirby?" 

"Oh,  hold  on  to  her  there  awhile,  long  as  she's  quiet. 
I'm  going  to  try  the  steam  again,  and  get  outside  into 
the  big  river.  Hell,  man,  but  this  hasn't  been  such  a  bad 


192  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

night's  work.  Now  if  we  only  make  it  to  St.  Louis, 
we'll  have  the  laugh  on  Donaldson." 

"I  reckon  he  won't  laugh  much,"  with  a  chuckle.  "It's 
cost  him  a  valuable  nigger." 

"You  mean  Sam?  Yes,  that's  so.  But  I'd  like  to 
know  who  that  other  fellow  was  —  the  white  one." 

"Him!  oh,  sum  abolitionist  likely;  maybe  one  o'  ol' 
Shrunk's  gang.  It's  a  damn  good  thing  fer  this  kintry 
we  got  him,  an'  I  ain't  worryin'  none  'bount  any  nigger- 
stealer.  The  boat  must  'er  gone  down,  I  reckon;  eny- 
how  ther  whol'  side  wus  caved  in.  What's  ther  matter 
with  yer  engine?" 

"It's  all  right  now  —  keep  your  eyes  peeled  ahead." 

The  steam  began  to  sizz,  settling  swiftly  into  a  rhyth- 
matic  chugging,  as  the  revolving  wheel  began  to  churn 
up  the  water  astern.  Confident  of  being  safely  hidden 
by  the  darkness,  I  permitted  the  current  to  bear  me 
downward,  my  muscles  aching  painfully  from  the 
struggle,  and  with  no  other  thought  in  my  mind  except 
to  keep  well  out  of  sight  of  the  occupants  of  the  boat 
To  be  perceived  by  them,  and  overtaken  in  the  water, 
meant  certain  death,  while,  if  they  continued  to  believe 
that  I  had  actually  sunk  beneath  the  surface,  some  future 
carelessness  on  their  part  might  yield  me  an  unexpected 
opportunity  to  serve  Rene.  The  few  words  overheard 
had  made  sufficiently  plain  the  situation.  Poor  Sam  had 
already  found  freedom  in  death,  crushed  between  the 
two  colliding  boats,  but  the  girl  had  been  grasped  in 
time,  and  hauled  uninjured  aboard  the  heavier  craft. 
This  had  been  the  object  of  the  attack  —  to  gain  posses 
sion  of  her.  Very  evidently  I  had  not  been  seen,  at  least 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE 


not  closely  enough  to  be  recognized  by  Kirby.  In  a 
measure  this  afforded  me  a  decided  advantage,  provided 
we  ever  encountered  each  other  again  —  and  I  meant 
that  we  should.  The  account  between  us  was  not  closed 
by  this  incident  ;  far  from  it.  There  in  that  black  water, 
struggling  to  keep  afloat,  while  being  swept  resistlessly  out 
into  the  river,  with  no  immediate  object  before  me  except 
to  remain  concealed  by  the  veil  of  darkness,  I  resolved  sol 
emnly  to  myself  that  this  affair  should  never  end,  until  it 
was  ended  right.  In  that  moment  of  decision  I  cared  not 
at  all  for  Rene  Beaucaire's  drop  of  negro  blood,  nor  for 
the  fact  that  she  was  a  slave  in  her  master's  hands.  Her 
appeal  to  me  ignored  all  this.  To  my  mind  she  was  but 
a  woman,  a  sweet,  lovable,  girlish  woman,  in  the  unre 
strained  power  of  a  brute,  and  dependent  alone  on  me 
for  rescue.  That  was  enough;  I  cared  for  nothing 
more. 

The  intense  blackness  hid  me  completely,  as  I  held  my 
head  barely  above  the  surface,  no  longer  making  any 
effort  to  stem  the  downward  sweep  of  the  stream.  Con 
scious  of  being  thus  borne  rapidly  to  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  my  only  endeavor  was  to  keep  afloat,  and  conserve 
my  strength.  The  ceaseless  noise  of  the  engine  told  me 
accurately  the  position  of  the  keel-boat,  although,  by 
this  time,  there  was  a  stretch  of  rushing  water  between 
us  which  prevented  me  even  seeing  the  hulking  shadow 
of  the  craft.  Judging  from  the  sound,  however,  it  was 
easy  to  determine  that  the  heavy  boat  was  traveling  much 
faster  than  I,  and  was  steadily  passing  me,  close  in 
against  the  dense  shadow  of  the  southern  shore.  With 
silent  strokes  I  waited  patiently,  until  the  steady  chug- 


194  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

ging  of  the  engine  grew  faint  in  the  distance,  and  then 
finally  ceased  entirely. 

I  was  alone  in  the  grasp  of  the  waters,  wrapped  in  the 
night  silence,  both  shores  veiled  beneath  the  dense  shad 
ows  ;  every  dim  outline  had  vanished,  and  I  realized  that 
the  swift  current  had  already  swept  me  into  the  broad 
Mississippi.  Uncertain  in  that  moment  which  way  to 
turn,  and  conscious  of  a  strange  lassitude,  I  made  no 
struggle  to  reach  land,  but  permitted  myself  to  be  borne 
downward  in  the  grip  of  the  water.  Suddenly  some 
thing  drifted  against  my  body,  a  black,  ill-defined  object, 
tossing  about  on  the  swell  of  the  waves,  and  instinctively 
I  grasped  at  it,  recognizing  instantly  the  shell  of  our 
wrecked  boat.  It  was  all  awash,  a  great  hole  stove  in 
its  side  well  forward,  and  so  filled  with  water  the  added 
weight  of  my  body  would  have  sunk  it  instantly.  Yet  the 
thing  remained  buoyant  enough  to  float,  and  I  clung  to 
its  stern,  thankful  even  for  this  slight  help. 

There  was  no  occasion  for  fear,  although  I  became 
aware  that  the  sweep  of  the  current  was  steadily  bearing 
us  further  out  toward  the  center  of  the  broad  stream,  and 
soon  felt  convinced  that  escape  from  my  predicament 
would  be  impossible  until  after  daylight.  I  could  per 
ceive  absolutely  nothing  by  which  to  shape  a  course,  the 
sky  above,  and  the  water  beneath  being  equally  black. 
Not  a  star  glimmered  overhead,  and  no  revealing  spark 
of  light  appeared  along  either  shore,  or  sparkled  across 
the  river  surface.  The  only  sound  to  reach  my  ears 
was  the  soft  lapping  of  water  against  the  side  of  the  boat 
to  which  I  clung.  The  loneliness  was  complete;  the  in 
tense  blackness  strained  my  eyes,  and  I  constantly  felt 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE  195 

as  though  some  mysterious  weight  was  dragging  me  down 
into  the  depths.  Yet  the  struggle  to  keep  afloat  was  no 
longer  necessary,  and  my  head  sank  in  relief  on  the 
hands  gripping  at  the  boat's  stern,  while  we  floated 
silently  on  through  the  black  mystery. 

I  know  not  how  long  this  lasted  —  it  might  have  been 
for  hours,  as  I  took  no  account  of  time.  My  mind 
seemed  dazed,  incapable  of  consecutive  thought  although 
a  thousand  illogical  conceptions  flashed  through  the 
brain,  each  in  turn  fading  away  into  another,  before  I 
was  fully  aware  of  its  meaning.  Occasionally  some  far- 
off  noise  aroused  me  from  lethargy,  yet  none  of  these 
could  be  identified,  except  once  the  mournful  cry  of  a 
wild  animal  far  away  to  the  right;  while  twice  we  were 
tossed  about  in  whirlpools,  my  grip  nearly  dislodged  be 
fore  the  mad  water  swept  us  again  into  the  sturdy  cur 
rent.  I  think  we  must  have  drifted  close  in  toward  the 
western  shore,  for  once  I  imagined  I  could  vaguely  dis 
tinguish  the  tops  of  trees  outlined  against  the  slightly 
lighter  sky.  Yet  this  vision  was  so  fleeting,  I  dare  not 
loosen  my  hold  upon  the  boat  to  swim  in  that  direction; 
and,  even  as  I  gazed  in  uncertainty,  the  dim  outline 
vanished  as  though  it  had  been  a  dream,  and  we  were 
again  being  forced  outward  into  the  swirling  waters. 

Suddenly  the  wrecked  boat's  bow  grated  against  some 
thing  immovable;  then  became  fixed,  the  stern  swinging 
slowly  about,  until  it  also  caught,  and  I  could  feel  the 
full  volume  of  down-pouring  water  pressing  against  my 
body.  It  struck  with  such  force  I  was  barely  able  to 
work  my  way  forward  along  the  side  of  the  half -sub 
merged  craft  in  an  effort  to  ascertain  what  it  was  blocking 


196  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

our  progress.  Yet  a  moment  later,  even  in  that  dark 
ness,  and  obliged  to  rely  entirely  upon  the  sense  of 
touch,  the  truth  of  my  situation  became  clear.  The 
blindly  floating  boat  had  drifted  upon  a  snag,  seemingly 
the  major  portion  of  a  tree,  now  held  by  some  spit  of 
sand.  I  struggled  vainly  in  an  attempt  to  release  the 
grip  which  held  us,  but  the  force  of  the  current  had 
securely  wedged  the  boat's  bow  beneath  a  limb,  a  bare, 
leafless  tentacle,  making  all  my  efforts  useless.  The 
ceaseless  water  rippled  about  me,  the  only  sound  in  the 
silent  night,  and  despairing  of  any  escape,  I  found  a 
submerged  branch  on  which  to  stand,  gripped  the  boat 
desperately  to  prevent  being  swept  away,  and  waited 
for  the  dawn. 

It  seemed  a  long  while  coming,  and  never  did  man 
gaze  on  a  more  dismal,  ghastly  scene  than  was  revealed 
to  me  by  those  first  gray  gleams  dimly  showing  in  the  far 
east.  All  about  stretched  utter  desolation;  wrherever  my 
eyes  turned,  the  vista  was  the  same  —  a  wide  stretch  of 
restless,  brown  water  surging  and  leaping  past,  bounded 
by  low-lying  shores,  forlorn  and  deserted.  There  was 
no  smoke,  no  evidence  of  life  anywhere  visible,  no  sign 
of  habitation;  all  was  wilderness.  The  snag  on  which  I 
rested  was  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  great  river,  an 
ugly  mass  of  dead  wood,  sodden  with  water,  forking  out 
of  the  stream,  with  grotesque  limbs  thrust  up  into  the 
air.  The  force  of  the  current  had  driven  the  nose  of 
the  boat  so  firmly  beneath  one  branch  as  to  sink  it  below 
the  surface,  making  it  impossible  to  be  freed.  In  the 
dull  light  I  struggled  hopelessly  to  extricate  the  craft, 
my  feet  slipping  on  the  water-soaked  log.  Twice  I  fell 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE 197 

into  the  stream,  barely  able  to  clamber  back  again,  but 
my  best  efforts  were  without  results.  The  increase  in 
light  gave  me  by  this  time  a  wider  view  of  my  surround 
ings,  but  brought  with  it  no  increase  of  hope.  I  was 
utterly  alone,  and  only  by  swimming  could  I  attain  either 
bank. 

How  far  I  had  aimlessly  drifted  down  stream  during 
the  night  was  a  mere  matter  of  conjecture.  I  possessed 
no  knowledge  of  where  I  was.  No  familiar  object  along 
shore  afforded  any  clue  as  to  my  position,  and  I  could 
not  even  determine  which  bank  offered  me  the  greater 
chance  of  assistance.  Each  appeared  about  equally  bare 
and  desolate,  entirely  devoid  of  promise.  However,  I  chose 
the  west  shore  for  my  experiment,  as  the  current  seemed 
less  strong  in  that  direction,  and  was  about  to  plunge  in, 
determined  to  fight  a  way  across,  when  my  eyes  suddenly 
detected  a  faint  wreath  of  smoke  curling  up  into  the  pale 
sky  above  a  headland  far  to  the  southward.  As  I  stared 
at  this  it  became  black  and  distinct,  tossed  about  in  the 
wind.  I  watched  intently,  clinging  to  my  support, 
scarcely  trusting  my  eyesight,  while  that  first  wisp  deep 
ened  into  a  cloud,  advancing  slowly  toward  me.  There 
was  no  longer  doubt  of  wrhat  it  was  —  unquestionably 
some  steamer  was  pushing  its  course  up  stream.  Even 
before  my  ears  could  detect  the  far-off  chug  of  the  en 
gine,  the  boat  itself  rounded  the  sharp  point  of  the  head 
land,  and  came  forth  into  full  view,  heading  out  toward 
the  middle  of  the  river  in  a  search  for  deeper  water. 

It  was  an  unusually  large  steamboat  for  those  days,  a 
lower  rive-r  packet  I  guessed,  with  two  funnels  painted 
yellow,  and  a  high  pilot  house,  surmounted  by  a  huge 


198  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

brazen  eagle.  At  first,  approaching  me,  bow  on,  I  could 
perceive  but  little  of  its  dimensions,  nor  gain  clear  view 
of  the  decks,  but  when  it  veered  slightly  these  were  re 
vealed,  and  I  had  a  glimpse  of  a  few  figures  grouped  for 
ward,  the  great  wheel  astern  splashing  the  water,  and 
between  a  long  row  of  windows  reflecting  the  glare  of 
the  early  sun.  Even  as  I  gazed  at  this  vision  a  flag  crept 
up  the  slender  staff  at  the  bow,  and  reaching  the  top  rip 
pled  out  in  the  crisp  breeze.  A  moment  later  I  deciphered 
the  lettering  across  the  white  front  of  the  pilot  house, 
Adverturer,  of  Memphis. 

Indifferent  at  that  moment  as  to  where  the  approach 
ing  boat  might  be  bound,  or  my  reception  on  board ;  de 
sirous  only  of  immediate  escape  from  my  unfortunate 
predicament,  I  managed  to  remove  my  sodden  coat,  and 
furiously  wave  it  in  the  air  as  a  signal.  At  first  there 
was  no  response,  no  evidence  that  I  had  even  been  seen; 
then  slowly,  deliberately,  the  steamer  changed  its  course, 
and  came  straight  up  the  river,  struggling  against  the 
full  strength  of  the  current.  I  could  see  a  man  step  from 
out  the  pilot  house  onto  the  upper  forward  deck,  lean 
out  over  the  rail,  and  speak  to  the  others  below,  pointing 
toward  me  across  the  water.  A  half-dozen  grouped 
themselves  at  the  bow,  ready  for  action,  their  figures 
growing  more  sharply  defined  as  the  struggling  craft 
approached.  The  man  above  stood  shading  his  eyes  with 
one  hand,  and  gesticulating  with  the  other.  Finally  the 
sound  of  his  voice  reached  me. 

"Hey!  you  out  there!  If  you  can  swim,  jump  for  it. 
I'm  not  going  to  run  into  that  snag." 

I  measured  the  distance  between  us  with  my  eve,  and 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE 199 

leaped  as  far  out  as  possible,  striking  out  with  lusty 
strokes.  The  swift  current  swung  me  about  like  a  chip, 
and  swept  me  downward  in  spite  of  every  struggle.  I 
was  squarely  abreast  of  the  boat,  already  caught  in  her 
suction,  and  being  drawn  straight  in  toward  her  wheel, 
when  the  looped  end  of  a  flying  noose  struck  my 
shoulder. 

"Keep  your  head,  lad!"  roared  out  a  hoarse  voice. 
"Hang  on  now,  an'  we'll  get  yer." 

It  was  such  a  rush,  such  a  breathless,  desperate  strug 
gle,  I  can  scarcely  recall  the  details.  All  I  really  remem 
ber  is  that  I  gripped  the  rope,  and  clung;  was  dragged 
under  again  and  again;  was  flung  against  the  steamer's 
side,  seemingly  losing  all  consciousness,  yet  dimly  real 
izing  that  outstretched  hands  grasped  me,  and  lifted  me 
up  by  main  strength  to  the  narrow  footway,  dropping 
me  there  in  the  pool  of  water  oozing  from  my  clothes. 
Someone  spoke,  lifting  my  head  on  his  arm,  in  answer 
to  a  hail  from  above. 

"Yes,  he's  all  right,  sir;  just  a  bit  groggy.  What'll 
we  do  with  him?" 

"Bring  him  along  up  to  Haines'  cabin,  and  get  him 
the  old  suit  in  my  room.  You  might  warm  him  up  with 
a  drink  first.  You  tend  to  it,  Mapes." 

The  liquor  I  drank  out  of  a  bottle  burnt  like  fire,  but 
brought  me  new  strength,  so  that,  with  Mapes'  help,  I 
got  to  my  feet,  and  stared  about  at  the  group  of  faces 
surrounding  us.  They  were  those  of  typical  river  men, 
two  negroes  and  three  whites,  ragged,  dirty,  and  dis 
reputable.  Mapes  was  so  bushily  bearded,  that  about 
all  I  could  perceive  of  his  face  was  the  eyes,  yet  these 


200  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

were  intelligent,  and  I  instantly  picked  him  out  as  be 
ing  the  mate. 

"How  long  yer  all  bin  roostin'  on  thet  snag?"  he  ques 
tioned,  evidently  somewhat  amused.  "Bern  me,  stranger, 
if  I  ever  see  thet  sorter  thing  done  afore." 

"I  was  caught  there  last  night,"  I  answered,  unwilling 
to  say  more.  "Boat  got  snagged  in  the  dark,  and  went 
down." 

"Live  round  yere,  I  reckon?" 

"No,"  just  floating.  Came  down  the  Illinois.  Where 
is  this  steamer  bound?" 

"Hell  alone  knows,"  dryly.  "Yeller  Banks  furst,  eny- 
how;  we're  loaded  with  supplies." 

"Supplies!  For  Yellow  Banks?"  in  surprise.  "Why, 
what's  going  on  there  ?  My  friend,  there  aren't  ten  fami 
lies  within  a  hundred  miles  of  that  place." 

Mapes  laughed,  his  mouth  opening  like  a  red  gash, 
exhibiting  a  row  of  yellow  fangs. 

"No,  I  reckon  not ;  but  thar's  a  hell  ov  a  lot  o'  fellers 
thar  whut  ain't  families,  but  kin  eat.  Didn't  yer  know, 
pardner,  thar's  a  right  smart  war  on?  thet  the  Illinoy 
militia  is  called  out,  an'  is  a  marchin'  now  fer  Yeller 
Banks  ?  They're  liable  fer  ter  be  thar  too  afore  ever  this 
damn  scow  makes  it,  if  we  hav'  ter  stop  an'  pick  eny 
mor*  blame  fools  outer  the  river.  Come  an,  let's  go 
up." 

"Wait  a  minute.  This  is  an  Indian  war  ?  Black  Hawk 
has  broken  loose?" 

"Sure;  raised  perticular  hell.  We  heerd  down  et 
Saint  Louee  he'd  killed  'bout  a  hundred  whites,  an' 
burned  sum  ov  'em  —  ther  ol'  devil." 


THE  LOSS  OF  RENE 201 

"And  where  is  he  now?" 

"Dunno;  never  wus  up  in  yer  afore.  We  bin  runnin* 
'tween  Saint  Louee  an'  New  Orleans,  'till  the  Gov'ment 
took  us.  Maybe  the  captain  kin  tell  yer  —  sumwhar  up 
Rock  River,  I  reckon,  wharever  that  is." 

We  climbed  the  steep  steps  to  the  upper  deck,  and 
were  met  at  the  head  of  the  ladder  by  the  captain,  evi 
dently  desirous  of  looking  me  over.  He  was  a  solidly- 
built  individual,  wearing  white  side-whiskers,  and  a  bulb 
ous  nose,  and  confronted  me  not  altogether  pleasantly. 

"All  right,  are  you?  Water  pretty  cold  yet,  I  reckon. 
Been  sticking  on  that  snag  for  long?" 

"'Several  hours;  but  my  boat  was  wrecked  before  we 
lodged  there." 

The  captain  laughed,  and  winked  aside  at  the  mate. 

"Seems  to  be  a  mighty  populous  river  up  this  way, 
hey,  Mapes?"  he  remarked  genially.  "Castaways  round 
every  bend." 

"What  do  you  mean?    Have  you  picked  up  others?" 

"Certainly  have.    Hit  a  keel-boat  twenty  miles  below." 

"A  keel-boat,  operated  by  steam?" 

"Couldn't  say  as  to  that.  Was  it,  Mapes?  The  craft 
had  gone  down  when  I  got  on  deck.  Had  four  aboard, 
but  we  got  'em  all  off,  an'  stowed  'em  back  there  in  the 
texas.  You  better  get  along  now,  and  shuck  those  wet 
clothes." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER 

HE  captain  turned  rather  sharply  away,  and  I  was 
thrust  through  an  open  cabin  door  by  the  grasp 
of  the  mate  before  I  could  really  sense  the  true  meaning 
of  this  unexpected  news.  Mapes  paused  long  enough 
to  gruffly  indicate  a  coarse  suit  of  clothes  draped  over  a 
stool,  and  was  about  to  retire  without  further  words, 
when  I  recovered  sufficiently  from  the  shock  to  halt  him 
with  a  question. 

"I  suppose  you  saw  those  people  picked  up  from  the 
keel-boat?" 

"Sure;  helped  pull  'em  aboard.  A  damned  queer 
combination,  if  you  ask  me;  two  nigger  wenches,  Joe 
Kirby,  an'  a  deputy  sheriff  from  down  Saint  Louee 
way." 

"Two  women,  you  say?  both  negresses?" 

"Well,  thet  whut  Joe  sed  they  wus,  an'  I  reckon  he 
knew;  an'  neither  ov  'em  put  up  a  holler  whin  he  sed  it. 
However  one  ov  'em  looked  ez  white  as  enybody  I  ever 
saw.  The  deputy  he  tol'  ther  same  story  —  sed  they  wus 
both  slaves  thet  Kirby  got  frum  an  ol'  plantation  down 
below;  som'  French  name,  it  wus.  Seems  like  the  two 
wenches  hed  run  away,  an'  the  deputy  hed  caught  'ern, 
an'  wus  a  takin'  'em  back.  Kirby  cum  'long  ter  help, 
bein'  as  how  they  belonged  ter  him." 

"You  knew  Kirby  then?" 

202 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          203 

"Hell,  ov  course.  Thar  ain't  many  river  men  who 
don't,  I  reckon.  What  is  it  to  you?" 

"Nothing;  it  sounds  like  a  strange  story,  that's  all. 
I  want  to  get  this  wet  stuff  off,  and  will  be  out  on  deck 
presently/* 

I  was  shivering  with  the  cold,  and  lost  no  time  shifting 
into  the  warm,  dry  clothing  provided,  spreading  out  my 
own  soaked  garments  over  the  edge  of  the  lower  bunk, 
but  careful  first  to  remove  my  packet  of  private  papers, 
which,  wrapped  securely  in  oiled  silk,  were  not  even 
damp.  It  was  a  typical  steamer  bunkhouse  in  which  I 
found  myself,  evidently  the  abiding  place  of  some  one  of 
the  boat's  petty  officers,  exceedingly  cramped  as  to  space, 
containing  two  narrow  berths,  a  stool  and  a  washstand, 
but  with  ample  air  and  light.  The  slats  across  the  win 
dow  permitted  me  a  view  of  the  river,  and  the  low-lying 
shore  beyond,  past  which  we  were  slowly  moving.  The 
sun  was  just  rising  above  the  eastern  horizon,  and  the 
water  reflected  a  purple  tinge.  With  no  desire  to  return 
immediately  to  the  deck,  I  seated  myself  on  the  stool  to 
consider  the  situation. 

Fate  had  played  a  strange  trick,  and  I  knew  not  how 
best  to  turn  it  to  advantage.  One  thing  only  was  clear; 
whatever  was  to  be  accomplished,  I  would  have  to  do 
it  alone  —  nowhere  could  I  turn  for  help.  In  the  first 
place  Kirby  undoubtedly  had  the  law  with  him,  and  be 
sides  was  among  friends  —  those  who  would  naturally 
believe  him,  and  were  loyal  to  the  institution  of  slavery. 
The  very  fact  that  this  was  a  Memphis  boat  we  were  on 
precluded  any  possibility  that  the  crew  would  sympa 
thize  with  a  nigger-stealer.  Nor  could  I  anticipate  any 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 


assistance  from  without.  Steamboats  were  few  and  far 
between  on  these  northern  waters,  and  at  this  time,  if  the 
report  of  war  was  true,  everything  afloat  would  be  headed 
up  stream,  laden  with  troops  and  provisions.  That  the 
report  was  true  I  had  no  doubt.  The  probability  of  an 
outbreak  was  known  before  I  left  Fort  Armstrong; 
the  crisis  had  come  earlier  than  expected,  that  was 
all. 

This,  then,  was  the  situation  —  through  an  odd  inter 
vention  of  Providence  here  we  were  all  together  on  this 
steamer,  which  was  steadily  churning  its  way  north 
ward,  every  turn  of  the  wheel  bearing  us  deeper  into  the 
wilderness.  The  chances  were  that  we  should  thus  be 
aboard  for  several  days;  certainly  until  we  encountered 
some  other  boat  bound  down  stream,  which  would  accept 
us  as  passengers.  Meanwhile  what  should  I  do?  How 
escape  observation?  How  reach  Rene,  without  encoun 
tering  Kirby?  The  answer  was  not  an  easy  one.  The 
deputy  would  not  know  me,  for  I  had  never  been  seen 
by  him.  Kirby  believed  me  dead,  yet  might  recognize 
me  in  spite  of  that  conviction  if  we  met  face  to  face. 
Still,  would  he  ?  The  daring  hope  that  he  might  not  came 
to  me  in  a  flash.  Might  it  not  be  possible  to  so  disguise 
myself  as  to  become  unnoticeable  ?  I  sprang  up  to  stare 
at  my  features  in  the  small  mirror  hanging  over  the 
washstand.  The  face  which  confronted  me  in  surprise 
was  almost  a  strange  one  even  to  my  eyes.  Instead  of 
the  smart  young  soldier,  smoothly  shaven,  with  closely- 
trimmed  hair,  and  rather  carefully  attired,  as  I  had  ap 
peared  on  board  the  Warrior,  the  glass  reflected  a 
bearded  face,  the  skin  visibly  roughened  and  reddened 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          205 

by  exposure,  the  hair  ragged  and  uncombed.  Even  to 
my  view  there  remained  scarcely  a  familiar  feature  — 
the  lack  of  razor  and  shears,  the  exposure  to  sun  and 
water,  the  days  of  sickness  and  neglect,  had  all  helped  to 
transform  me  into  a  totally  different-appearing  person 
from  what  I  had  formerly  been;  the  officer  and  gentle 
man  had,  by  the  mystery  of  environment,  been  changed 
into  the  outward  semblance  of  a  river  roustabout.  Nor 
was  this  all.  The  new  character  was  emphasized  by  the 
clothes  I  wore — far  too  large  to  fit,  also  the  texture 
and  color,  not  to  mention  the  dirt  and  grease,  speaking 
loudly  of  a  rough  life,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  poverty. 
The  metamorphosis  was  complete;  so  complete  that  I 
laughed  aloud,  assured  by  that  one  glance  that  the  gam 
bler,  confident  that  I  was  dead,  would  never  by  any  possi 
bility  recognize  me  in  this  guise,  or  while  habilitated  in 
such  nondescript  garments.  Unless  some  happening 
should  expose  me,  some  occurrence  arouse  suspicion,  I 
felt  convinced  of  my  ability  to  even  slouch  past  him  on 
deck  unobserved,  and  unrecognized. 

But  the  girl  —  Rene  ?  And  so  this  was  how  I  had  ap 
peared  to  her.  No  wonder  she  questioned  me;  doubted 
my  first  explanation.  The  thought  that  my  personal  ap 
pearance  was  so  disreputable  had  never  occurred  to  me 
before,  and  even  then,  staring  into  that  glass,  I  could 
scarcely  bring  myself  to  acknowledge  the  truth.  I  had 
first  approached  her  confident  that  my  appearance  as  a 
gentleman  would  awaken  her  trust;  I  had  felt  myself 
to  be  a  most  presentable  young  man  in  whom  she  must 
instantly  repose  faith.  Yet,  this  had  not  been  true  at 
all  —  instead  I  came  to  her  with  the  outward  bearing  of 


206 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

a  worthless  vagabond,  a  stubble-bearded  outcast.  And 
yet  she  had  trusted  me;  would  trust  me  again.  More; 
she  could  never  be  deceived,  or  fail  to  recognize  my  pres 
ence  aboard  if  she  had  the  freedom  of  the  deck.  Kirby 
might  be  deceived,  but  not  Rene.  Still  she  was  a  woman 
of  quick  wit;  once  recovered  from  her  first  surprise  at 
thus  encountering  me,  neither  by  word  or  look  would  she 
ever  betray  her  knowledge.  If  I  could  only  plan  to  meet 
with  her  first  alone,  the  peril  of  her  recognition  would 
not  be  extreme. 

But  I  must  also  figure  upon  the  other  woman.  Who 
could  she  be  ?  Not  Eloise  Beaucaire  surely,  for  the  mate 
had  only  mentioned  one  of  the  two  as  being  sufficiently 
white  to  be  noticeable.  That  one  would  surely  be  Rene, 
and  it  was  scarcely  probable  that  Eloise,  with  no  drop  of 
negro  blood  in  her  veins,  could  appear  colored.  Perhaps 
this  second  woman  was  Delia,  the  quadroon  mother.  But 
if  so,  how  did  she  chance  to  fall  alone  into  Kirby 's 
clutches  ?  Was  she  aboard  the  keel-boat,  locked  below  in 
the  cabin,  when  it  rammed  into  us?  If  she  had  been  cap 
tured  at  Shrunk's  camp  during  their  murderous  raid, 
what  had  become  of  her  companion?  Where  was  Eloise 
Beaucaire?  The  harder  I  sought  to  straighten  out  this 
mystery  the  more  involved  it  became.  I  knew  so  little 
of  the  facts,  there  was  nothing  I  could  argue  from.  All 
that  remained  was  for  me  to  go  forward  blindly,  trust 
ing  implicitly  to  the  god  of  luck. 

With  every  additional  glance  at  the  face  reflected  by 
the  mirror,  my  confidence  strengthened  in  the  ability  to 
encounter  Kirby,  and  pass  unrecognized.  Convinced  as 
he  undoubtedly  was  of  my  death  beneath  the  black  waters 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          207 

of  the  river  he  could  not  possibly  imagine  my  presence 
aboard  the  Adventurer,  while  my  personal  appearance 
was  so  utterly  changed  as  to  suggest  to  his  mind  no 
thought  of  familiarity.  The  conditions  were  all  in  my 
favor.  I  was  smiling  grimly  at  this  conceit,  well  pleased 
at  the  chance  thus  afforded  me,  when  the  stateroom  door 
was  suddenly  flung  open,  and  the  hairy  face  of  the  mate 
thrust  within. 

"I  reckon  yer  better  tote  them  wet  duds  down  ter  the 
boiler  room,"  he  said,  gruffly,"  an'  then  git  sum  grub. 
Likely  'nough  yer  wound't  mind  eatin'  a  bit.  Be  yer  a 
river  man?" 

"I've  never  worked  on  a  steamboat,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean." 

"No;  well  I  reckoned  not,  but  the  captain  he  thought 
maybe  yer  had.  I  tol'  him  yer  didn't  talk  like  no  steamer 
hand.  Howsumever  we're  almightly  short  o'  help 
aboard,  an'  maybe  yer'd  like  a  job  ter  help  pay  yer  way?" 

My  fingers  involuntarily  closed  on  some  loose  gold 
pieces  in  my  pocket,  but  a  sudden  thought  halted  me. 
Why  not  ?  In  what  better  way  could  I  escape  discovery  ? 
As  an  employe  of  the  boat  I  could  go  about  the  decks  un 
suspected,  and  unnoticed.  Kirby  would  never  give  me  a 
second  thought,  or  glance,  while  the  opportunity  thus 
afforded  of  speaking  to  Rene,  and  being  of  service  to 
her,  would  be  immeasurably  increased.  I  withdrew  my 
hand,  swiftly  deciding  my  course  of  action. 

"I  suppose  I  might  as  well  earn  a  bit,"  I  admitted, 
hesitatingly.  "Only  I  had  about  decided  I'd  enlist,  if  the 
war  was  still  going  on  when  we  got  up  there." 

"That'll  be  all  right.     We'll  keep  yer  busy  til'  then, 


208  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

enyhow.  Go  on  down  below  now,  an'  eat,  an'  when  yer 
git  through,  climb  up  the  ladder,  an'  report  ter  me. 
What'll  I  call  yer?" 

"Steve." 

"Steve  —  hey;  sorter  handy  man,  ain't  yer?" 

"Well,  I've  done  a  little  of  everything  in  my  time. 
I'm  not  afraid  to  work." 

During  most  of  the  remaining  hours  of  the  morning 
the  mate  kept  me  employed  below,  in  company  with  a 
number  of  others  of  the  crew,  in  sorting  over  the  mis 
cellaneous  cargo,  which  had  evidently  been  very  hastily 
loaded.  I  began  to  think  that  I  had  made  a  wrong 
choice,  and  that,  in  the  guise  of  a  passenger,  with  the 
freedom  of  the  upper  decks,  my  chances  for  observation 
would  have  been  decidedly  better.  The  work  was  hard, 
and  dirty,  and,  after  a  few  hours  of  it,  I  must  have  looked 
my  assumed  part  to  perfection.  However,  it  was  now 
too  late  to  assert  myself,  and  I  could  only  trust  blindly 
to  Fate  to  furnish  me  with  the  information  I  needed. 
Mapes  merely  glanced  in  upon  us  occasionally,  leaving 
the  overseeing  of  the  gang  to  a  squatty,  red- faced  white 
man,  whose  profanity  never  ceased.  There  were  ten 
of  us  in  the  gang,  several  being  negroes,  and  I  was  un 
able  to  extract  any  information  of  value  from  those  I 
attempted  to  converse  with.  One  had  assisted  in  rescu 
ing  the  party  from  the  wrecked  keel-boat,  and  had  seen 
the  two  women,  as  they  came  aboard  under  the  glare  of  a 
torch,  but  his  description  of  their  appearance  was  far 
from  clear,  and  as  to  what  had  become  of  them  since,  he 
knew  nothing. 

As  we  worked  in  the  heat  and  dirt  below,  the  steamer 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          209 

steadily  plowed  its  way  up  stream,  meeting  with  no  vessel 
bound  down,  or  even  a  drifting  barge;  nor  did  I  perceive 
the  slightest  sign  of  any  settlement  along  the  banks. 
Our  course  ran  zig-zag  from  shore  to  shore  in  an  en 
deavor  to  follow  the  main  channel,  and  progress  was 
slow,  the  wheelsman  evidently  not  being  well  acquainted 
with  the  stream.  The  cry  of  a  leadsman  forward  was 
almost  constant.  Once  we  tied  up  against  the  western 
bank  for  nearly  an  hour  to  remove  a  bit  of  driftwrood 
from  the  wheel,  and  I  heard  voices  speaking  above  on 
the  upper  deck  as  though  passengers  were  grouped  along 
the  rail.  I  obtained  no  glimpse  of  these,  however, 
although  one  of  the  negroes  informed  me  that  there 
were  several  army  officers  on  board.  The  possibility 
that  some  of  these  might  recognize  me  was  not  a  pleasant 
thought.  I  saw  nothing  of  the  captain,  but  heard  him 
shouting  orders  to  the  men  engaged  tinkering  at  the 
paddle-wheel.  The  overseer  gave  me  a  hat  which  added 
little  to  my  personal  appearance,  and  by  the  time  we 
were  called  to  knock  off  for  the  noon  meal,  I  was  thor 
oughly  tired,  and  disgusted,  feeling  as  much  a  roustabout 
as  I  certainly  looked. 

The  meal  was  served  on  an  unplaned  plank,  the  ends 
resting  on  kegs  in  front  of  the  boilers.  The  unwashed 
gang  simply  helped  themselves,  and  then  retired  to  any 
convenient  spot  where  they  chose  to  eat.  I  discovered 
a  fairly  comfortable  seat  on  a  cracker  box,  and  was  still 
busily  munching  away  on  the  coarse,  poorly-cooked  food, 
when  Mapes,  prowling  about,  chanced  to  spy  me  among 
the  shadows. 

"Hullo;  is  that  you,  Steve?"  he  asked,  gruffly.    "Well, 


210  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

when  yer  git  done  eatin'  I  got  another  job  fer  yer  on 
deck.     Yer  hear  me?" 

I  signified  that  I  did,  and  indeed  was  even  then  quite 
ready  to  go,  my  heart  throbbing  at  this  opportunity  to 
survey  other  sections  of  the  boat.  I  followed  him  eagerly 
up  the  ladder,  and  ten  minutes  later  was  busily  em 
ployed  with  scrubbing  brush,  and  a  bucket  of  water,  in 
an  endeavor  to  improve  the  outward  appearance  of  the 
paint  of  the  upper  deck.  Nothing  occurred  about  me  for 
some  time,  the  passengers  being  at  dinner  in  the  main 
cabin.  I  could  hear  the  rattle  of  dishes,  together  with 
a  murmur  of  conversation,  and  even  found  a  partially 
opened  skylight  through  which  I  could  look  down,  and 
distinguish  a  small  section  of  the  table.  Kirby  was  not 
within  range  of  my  vision,  but  there  were  several  officers 
in  fatigue  uniforms,  none  of  their  faces  familiar,  to 
gether  with  one  or  two  men  in  civilian  dress.  I  judged 
there  were  no  women  present,  as  I  saw  none,  or  heard 
any  sound  of  a  feminine  voice.  The  principal  topic  of 
conversation  appeared  to  be  in  connection  with  the  war, 
and  was  largely  monopolized  by  a  red-faced  captain, 
who  had  once  been  a  visitor  in  Black  Hawk's  camp,  and 
who  loudly  asserted  that  the  gathering  volunteers  would 
prove  utterly  useless  in  such  a  campaign,  which  must 
eventually  be  won  by  the  superiority  of  regular  troops. 
A  hot-headed  civilian  opposite  him  at  the  table  argued 
otherwise,  claiming  that  the  militia  was  largely  composed 
of  old  Indian  fighters,  who  would  give  a  good  account  of 
themselves.  The  discussion  became  noisy,  and  appar 
ently  endless,  interesting  me  not  at  all.  Once  I  detected 
Kirby's  voice  chime  in  mockingly,  but  altogether  the 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          211 

talk  brought  me  no  information,  and  possessed  little 
point. 

I  had  moved  away,  and  was  engaged  busily  scraping 
at  the  dingy  paint  of  the  pilot  house,  when  a  negro,  evi 
dently  a  cook  from  his  dress,  came  up  from  the  lower 
deck,  bearing  a  tray  well-laden  with  food  in  one  hand, 
and  disappeared  aft.  He  did  not  even  notice  my  pres 
ence,  or  glance  about,  but  I  instantly  shrank  back  out  of 
sight,  for  I  became  immediately  conscious  that  someone 
was  closely  following  him.  This  second  man  proved 
to  be  one  of  the  fellows  in  civilian  clothing  I  had  previ 
ously  noticed  at  the  table  below,  a  tall,  sallow  individual, 
attired  in  a  suit  of  brown  jeans,  his  lean,  cracker  face 
ornamented  by  a  grizzled  bunch  of  chin-whiskers. 

"Yer  wait  a  minute  thar,  Jim,"  he  called  out,  "'til  I 
unlock  that  thar  dore.  I  ain't  ther  kind  thet  takes 
chances  with  no  nigger." 

I  recognized  the  peculiar  voice  instantly,  for  I  had 
listened  to  that  lazy  drawl  before  while  hidden  in  the 
darkness  beneath  the  Beaucaire  veranda  —  the  fellow 
was  Tim,  the  deputy  sheriff  from  St.  Louis.  The  negro 
rested  his  tray  on  the  rail,  while  the  white  man  fumbled 
through  his  pockets  for  a  key,  finally  locating  it,  and 
inserting  the  instrument  into  the  lock  of  the  second  cabin 
from  the  stern.  It  turned  hard,  causing  some  delay,  and 
a  muttered  curse,  but  finally  yielded,  and  the  door  was 
pushed  partly  ajar.  I  heard  no  words  exchanged  with 
anyone  within,  but  the  negro  pushed  the  tray  forward 
without  entering,  sliding  it  along  the  deck,  while  Tim, 
evidently  satisfied  that  his  charges  were  quite  safe, 
promptly  reclosed  and  locked  the  door,  returning  the  key 


212  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  the  security  of  his  pocket.  After  staring  a  moment 
over  the  rail  at  the  shore  past  which  we  were  gliding,  he 
disappeared  after  the  negro  down  the  ladder.  I  was 
again  alone  on  the  upper  deck,  except  for  the  wheelsman 
in  the  pilot  house,  yet  in  that  broad  daylight  I  hesitated 
to  act  on  my  first  impulse.  Eager  as  I  certainly  was  to 
make  the  poor  girl  aware  of  my  presence  on  board,  the 
chance  of  being  seen,  and  my  purpose  suspected  by  others, 
restrained  me.  Besides,  as  yet,  I  had  no  plan  of  rescue; 
nothing  to  suggest. 

Even  as  I  hesitated,  industriously  scrubbing  away  at 
the  paint,  Kirby  and  the  captain  appeared  suddenly,  paus 
ing  a  moment  at  the  head  of  the  ladder  in  friendly  con 
versation.  Parting  at  last,  with  a  hearty  laugh  over 
some  joke  exchanged  between  them,  the  latter  ascended 
the  steps  to  the  pilot  house,  while  the  gambler  turned 
aft,  still  smiling,  a  cigar  between  his  lips.  I  managed 
to  observe  that  he  paused  in  front  of  the  second  cabin, 
as  though  listening  for  some  sound  within,  but  made  no 
attempt  to  enter,  passing  on  to  the  door  beyond,  which 
was  unlocked.  He  must  have  come  to  the  upper  deck 
on  some  special  mission,  for  he  was  out  of  my  sight 
scarcely  a  moment,  returning  immediately  to  the  deck 
below.  This  occurrence  merely  served  to  make  clearer 
in  my  mind  the  probable  situation  —  the  after-cabin  was 
undoubtedly  occupied  by  Kirby,  perhaps  in  company 
with  the  deputy;  while  next  to  them,  securely  locked 
away,  and  helpless  to  escape,  were  confined  the  two  slave 
women.  In  order  to  reach  them  I  must  operate  under 
the  cover  of  darkness,  and  my  only  hope  of  being  free 
to  work,  even  then,  lay  in  the  faith  that  the  gambler 


ON  BOARD  THE  ADVENTURER          213 

might  become  so  involved  in  a  card  game  below  as  to 
forget  his  caution.  So  far  as  Tim  was  concerned  I  felt 
perfectly  capable  of  outwitting  him;  but  Kirby  was  dan- 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK 

/TAHE  next  two  hours  dragged  dreadfully  slow,  in  spite 
•*-  of  my  pretense  at  steady  work,  and  the  fact  that 
my  thoughts  were  continuously  occupied.  The  shores  past 
which  we  glided  were  low  and  monotonous,  while  the 
river  was  but  a  tawny  sweep  of  unoccupied  water.  We 
were  already  well  above  the  region  of  white  settlements, 
in  a  land  beautiful,  but  uncultivated.  The  upper  deck 
remained  practically  deserted,  and  I  was  encouraged  to 
observe,  by  glancing  through  the  skylight,  that  a  stubborn 
game  of  poker  was  being  indulged  in  at  the  cabin  table 
below.  The  amount  of  stakes  visible,  as  well  as  some 
of  the  language  reaching  me,  accounted  for  the  absence 
of  passengers  outside,  even  those  not  playing  circling 
the  table  in  interest.  The  deputy,  however,  was  not 
among  these,  and  occasionally  he  wandered  up  the  ladder, 
and  patrolled  the  deck,  although  making  no  effort  to 
invade  the  locked  stateroom.  Apparently  he  was  merely 
performing  a  duty  assigned  him  by  Kirby,  but  possessed 
no  fear  that  his  prisoners  would  escape.  The  last  time 
he  appeared  more  at  ease,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  close 
to  the  rail,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  staring  out  glumly  at 
the  water.  His  position  was  within  a  foot  or  two  of  the 
closed  door,  and  I  ventured  to  work  my  passage  along 
the  front  of  the  cabin,  hoping  to  attract  his  atten 
tion.  Perhaps  he  was  lonely,  for  he  finally  observed  me 

214 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK  215 

in  my  humble  capacity,  and  broke  the  silence  with  a 
question. 

"Hav'  yer  ever  bin  up  this  way  afore?" 

I  paused  in  my  work,  and  straightened  up  stiffly. 

"Onct,"  making  the  fault  in  pronunciation  prominent. 

"WaF,  how  fur  is  it  then,  ter  thet  damn  Yellow 
Banks  ?" 

"I  dunno  'sackly  in  miles/'  I  acknowledged  doubtfully. 
"Everything  looks  just  'bout  alike  'long  yere,"  and  I 
took  a  squint  at  the  bank,  as  though  endeavoring  a  guess. 
"I  reckon  maybe  it'll  be  'bout  twenty-four  hours'  steamin' 
yet — morn'n  thet,  likely,  if  we  got  ter  tie  up  much  'long 
shore.  Are  yer  goin'  fer  ter  jine  the  army?" 

"Whut,  me  jine  the  army?"  he  laughed  as  though  at 
a  good  joke.  "Hell,  no;  I'm  a  sorter  sheriff  down  Saint 
Louee  way,  an'  all  I  want  fer  ter  do  now  is  just  git  back 
thar  as  fast  as  God  Almighty '11  let  me." 

"I  see,  yer  a  headin'  in  the  wrong  direction.  I  reckon 
yer  mus'  be  one  o'  them  parties  whut  we  done  yanked 
outer  thet  keel-boat  down  river  las'  night,  aint  yer?" 

"I  reckon  I  wus;  whut  of  it?" 

"Nuthin'  'tall ;  'tain't  no  manner  o'  'count  ter  me,  fur 
as  thet  goes,"  and  I  got  down  on  my  knees  again  to 
resume  scrubbing.  "All  I  wus  goin'  fer  ter  ask  yer  wus — 
wan't  thar  a  couple  o'  womin  'long  with  ye?  Whut's 
becom'  o'  them?  I  ain't  seed  hide  ner  hair  ov  either 
since  they  cum  aboard." 

I  did  not  glance  around,  yet  knew  that  Tim  spat  over 
the  rail,  and  stroked  his  chin-beard  reflectively,  after 
looking  hard  at  me. 

"They'se  both  of  'em  niggers,"  he  said,  evidently  per- 


216  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

suaded  my  question  was  prompted  only  by  curiosity. 
"They  belong  ter  Joe  Kirby,  an'  we  got  'em  locked 
up."^ 

"That's  whut  yer  way  up  yere  fur,  hey?  Coin'  ter  take 
'em  back  down  river  ter  Saint  Louee,  I  reckon?" 

"Furst  boat  thet  cums  'long.  They  skipped  out  night 
afore  las',  but  we  cotched  'em  all  right.  Yer  goin'  back 
on  this  steamer?" 

"Not  me ;  I'm  goin'  fer  ter  enlist  whin  \ve  git  ter  Yellow 
Banks.  Thar's  a  heap  more  fun  in  thet,  then  steam- 
boatin'." 

We  continued  to  talk  back  and  forth  for  some  time, 
but  to  little  purpose,  although  I  endeavored  to  lead  the 
conversation  so  as  to  learn  more  definitely  the  exact 
situation  of  the  two  prisoners.  Whether  Tim  was  nat 
urally  cautious,  or  had  been  warned  against  talking  with 
strangers  by  Kirby,  I  do  not  know,  but,  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts,  he  certainly  proved  extremely  close-mouthed, 
except  when  we  drifted  upon  other  topics  in  which  I  felt 
no  interest.  He  was  not  suspicious  of  me,  however,  and 
lingered  on  in  his  seat  beside  the  rail,  expectorating  into 
the  running  water  below,  until  Mapes  suddenly  appeared 
on  deck,  and  compelled  me  to  resume  work.  The  two 
disappeared  together,  seeking  a  friendly  drink  at  the 
bar,  leaving  me  alone,  and  industriously  employed  in 
brightening  up  the  front  of  the  cabin.  I  was  still  engaged 
at  this  labor,  not  sorry  to  be  left  alone,  when  a  cautious 
whisper,  sounding  almost  at  my  very  ear,  caused  me  to 
glance  up  quickly,  startled  at  the  unexpected  sound.  I 
could  perceive  nothing,  although  I  instantly  felt  con 
vinced  that  whispering  voice  had  issued  from  between 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK  217 

the  narrow  slats  defending  the  small  stateroom  window. 
No  one  was  in  sight  along  the  deck,  and  the  rag  I  was 
wielding  hung  limp  in  my  hand. 

"Who  was  it  that  spoke?"  I  ventured,  the  words  barely 
audible. 

"Ah  did;  the  prisoner  in  the  stateroom.  Have  both 
those  men  gone?" 

"Yes;  I  am  here  alone.  You  are  a  woman?  You  are 
Rene  Beaucaire?" 

"No,  Ah  am  not  her;  but  Ah  thought  from  the  way  yer 
questioned  thet  brute,  yer  was  interested.  Ah  know 
whar  Rene  Beaucaire  is." 

"You  know?     Tell  me  first,  who  you  are?" 

"Elsie  Clark.  Ah  am  a  mulatto,  a  free  negress.  Ah 
bin  helpin'  Massa  Shrunk,  an'  a  cookin'  fer  him.  Yer 
know  whut  it  wus  whut  happened  down  thar?" 

"I  know  part  of  it,  at  least — that  Shrunk  has  been 
killed.  I  am  not  a  steamboatman.  I  was  at  Shrunk's 
cabin,  and  found  the  bodies.  Tell  me  exactly  what 
occurred  there." 

"Whut's  yer  name?" 

"'Steven  Knox ;  I  am  a  soldier.  Rene  must  have  told 
you  about  me." 

"No,  sah;  she  never  done  tol'  me  nuthin'.  Ah  didn't 
much  mor'n  see  her  enyhow,  fur  as  thet  goes." 

"Not  see  her!  Then  she  is  not  confined  there  with 
you?" 

"Wiv  me?  Dar  ain't  nobody  confined  yer  wiv  me. 
Ah  just  ain't  set  eyes  on  nobody  since  Ah  done  got  on 
board,  'cept  de  cook.  Ah  reckon  dem  white  men  aim  fer 
ter  tote  me  soufe,  an'  sell  me  fer  a  slave ;  dat's  why  Ah's 


218  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

,<i 

locked  up  yere  dis  way.    But  Ah  sure  does  know  whar  dis' 
yer  Rene  Beaucaire  wus." 

"Where?" 

"Wal},  sah,  it  wus  'bout  like  dis.  Long  'bout  three 
o'clock  in  de  mauning,  ol'  Bill  Sikes  cum  up  f  rum  de  lower 
pint,  a  drivin'  his  kivered  wagon,  an'  made  Massa  Shrunk 
git  up  out  er  bed  fer  ter  git  him  anodder  team  o'  hosses. 
Den  dey  done  routed  me  up  fer  ter  hustle  up  sum  grub.'* 

"Sikes;  who  is  Sikes?" 

"He  lives  down  by  de  lower  pike,  sah;  he's  an  aboli 
tionist,  sah." 

"Oh,  I  see ;  he  and  Shrunk  worked  together.  He  helped 
with  the  runaway  slaves." 

"Yas,  sah.  Ah's  bin  called  up  thet  way  afore.  So 
Ah  just  nat'larly  went  ter  work  cookin',  an'  purty  soon 
dey  all  ov  'em  cum  stragglin'  in  ter  de  cabin  fer  ter  eat. 
Dar  was  four  ov  'em,  sah,"  her  voice  a  husky  whisper. 
"Bill  Sikes,  totin'  a  gun  in  his  han',  a  free  nigger  whut 
dey  called  Pete,  an'  two  wimin.  Furst  like,  bein'  Ah 
wus  right  busy,  Ah  didn't  take  no  heed  ov  dere  faces, 
fer  dey  wus  all  muffled  'round  like;  but  dey  hed  fer  ter 
unwrap  dem  veils  fore  dey  cud  eat  —  tho'  de  Lord  knows 
dey  didn't  no  one  ov  'em  eat  much.  De  bigger  one  was 
a  quadroon,  maybe  'bout  forty  years  ol',  an'  de  odder  she 
wan't  much  more'n  a  gal;  an'  dar  wan't  nuthin'  ov  de 
nigger  'bout  her,  'cept  it  mought  be  de  hair,  an'  de  eyes  — 
dem  was  sure  black  'nough.  Ah  just  nat'larly  felt  mighty 
sorry  fer  her,  fer  she  done  cried  all  de  time,  an'  cudn't 
eat  nuthin'." 

"You    learned    who    they   were?    how    they    came 
there?" 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK 219 

"Course  Ah  did.  Sikes  he  'splained  all  'bout  'em  ter 
Massa  Shrunk,  an'  Ah  heerd  whut  he  sed.  Ah  wus  a 
waitin'  on  'em.  Seems  like,  dey  hed  run  off  frum  de 
Beaucaire  plantation,  sumwhar  down  ribber  on  de  Mis 
souri  side,  'cause  ol'  Beaucaire  hed  died,  an'  dey  wus  goin' 
fer  ter  be  sold  down  soufe.  De  free  nigger  he  wus  helpin' 
fer  ter  git  'em  away  in  his  boat.  De  way  I  heerd  'em 
tell,  dey  got  snagged  in  de  dark,  an'  den  drifted  ashore 
at  de  lower  pine.  Wanderin'  'round,  dey  stumbled  on 
Sikes,  an',  soon  as  he  heard  de  story,  he  just  hitched  up, 
an'  drove  over  whar  we  were.  Took  him  'bout  three 
hours,  Ah  reckon,  an'  'long  de  road  one  ov  his  hosses  wint 
lame." 

"And — and  what  then?"  I  asked  breathlessly,  glancing 
about  to  assure  myself  no  one  had  appeared  on  deck,  as 
she  paused.  "They  got  away?" 

"  'Cept  fer  de  free  nigger,  de  rest  ov  'em  started  cross 
kintry  fer  Beardstown,  sah.  De  nigger  Pete,  he  didn't 
go,  fer  he'd  made  up  his  min'  fer  ter  git  bac'  horn'  ter  ol' 
Missurry  de  furst  chanst  he  got.  We  all  ov  us  helped  fer 
ter  put  'em  in  de  wagon,  hid  undeh  a  lot  o'  truck,  an'  den 
Sikes  he  done  drove  'em  out  thro'  de  bluffs.  Ah  done 
walked  wif  de  gal,  an'  she  tol'  mor'  'bout  herself,  an' 
whar  she  cum  frum;  an'  dat  wus  her  name,  sah." 

"Her  name?    What  name?" 

"Rene  Beaucaire;  de  quadroon  woman,  she  wus  her 
mother." 

I  could  scarcely  voice  my  surprise,  the  quick  throb 
bing  of  my  heart  threatening  to  choke  me. 

"She  claimed  that  name?  She  actually  told  you  she 
was  Rene  Beaucaire?" 


220 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"She  sure  did.    Why?    Wan't  thet  her  name?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  confessed.  "I  had  supposed  I  had 
met  such  a  person,  but  if  what  you  tell  me  is  true,  I  was 
mistaken.  Everything  has  become  confused.  Perhaps 
I  shall  understand  better,  if  you  go  on.  What  happened 
after  they  left?" 

"Why,  we  just  went  back  ter  bed,  an'  'long  'bout  day 
light,  I  reckon,  sum  fellars  cum  ashore  off  a  steamboat, 
an'  done  broke  inter  de  house;  muster  bin  a  dozen,  er 
mor',  white  men,  a  cussin'  an'  swearin',  an'  sayin'  dey 
wus  a  huntin'  dem  thar  Beaucaire  niggers.  We  never 
done  heerd  'em  till  dey  bust  in  de  dore.  One  ob  dem  he 
knocked  me  down,  an'  den  Ah  saw  Massa  Shrunk  kill 
one,  afore  dey  got  him.  Ah  don't  know  just  whut  did 
cum  ob  de  free  nigger;  Ah  reckon  maybe  he  run  away. 
Bar's  a  fellar  on  board  yere  whut  killed  Massa  Shrunk; 
an'  he's  de  same  one  whut  made  me  cum  'long  wrid  him." 

"You  mean  the  deputy  sheriff  ?  the  man  with  the  chin- 
whiskers  ?" 

"No,  sah,  Ah  don't  mean  him.  He  wus  thar  all  right, 
but  Ah  never  saw  him  hit  nobody.  It  wus  another  fellar, 
a  smooth-faced  man,  sorter  tall  like,  all  dressed  up,  an' 
who  never  talks  much." 

"Kirby — Joe  Kirby,  a  river  gambler." 

"Dat's  de  name  —  Kurby.  Wai',  he's  de  one  whut  wus 
lookin'  fer  dis  yere  gal,  Rene  Beaucaire.  He  wanted 
her  pow'ful  bad.  Dey  hunted  all  'round  fer  ter  git  hoi' 
her,  cussin'  an'  threatenin',  an'  a  haulin'  me  round;  but 
'twan't  no  sorter  use.  So  finally  dey  took  me  'long  ter  a 
boat  in  de  crick — a  keel-boat,  run  by  steam.  Most  de 
odder  men  disappeared;  Ah  never  did  know  whar  d»y 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK 221 

went,  but  dis  yere  Kurby,  an'  de  man  wif  de  chin- 
whiskers,  dey  done  shut  me  up  in  de  cabin.  Ah  don't 
know  much  whut  did  happen  after  dat,  till  'bout  de  time 
de  steamboat  done  hit  us ;  an'  'bout  de  next  thing  Ah  wus 
yanked  up  yere  on  deck." 

"But  there  was  another  woman  on  the  keel-boat  when 
it  was  sunk — a  prisoner  also.  Surely  you  must  have 
seen  her,"  I  insisted. 

"Ah  saw  her — yas,"  eagerly.  "But  Ah  don't  know 
who  she  wus,  sah,  nor  whar  she  ever  cum  frum." 

"Then  she  is  not  there  with  you?" 

"No,  sah;  Ah's  yere  all  'lone.  Ah  reckon,  tho',  she 
sure  mus'  be  on  board  sumwhar.  All  what  Ah  does  know 
is,  dat  de  gal  called  Rene  Beaucaire  sure  ain't  on  board; 
fer  she,  an'  her  mah,  am  at  Beardstown  long  fore  dis, 
an'  a  headin'  right  smart  for  Canady ;  while  Ah's  heatiin' 
fer  down  soufe.  Ah's  a  free  nigger,  an'  dey's  kidnapped 
me.  Ah's  just  told  yer  all  dis,  Mister  White  Man,  'cause 
you's  a  frien'  ob  de  Beaucaires  —  yer  wus,  wusn't 
yer?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  soberly,  "I  am;  and,  if  I  can  find  any 
chance  to  help  you,  I  am  going  to  do  it,  Elsie.  Be  care 
ful  now ;  don't  talk  any  more — the  captain  is  just  coming 
out  of  the  pilot  house." 

As  greatly  as  this  brief,  hastily  whispered  conversation 
had  served  to  clear  up  certain  puzzling  matters  in  my 
mind,  the  total  result  of  the  information  thus  imparted  by 
Elsie  Clark  only  rendered  the  situation  more  complex  and 
puzzling.  Evidently  the  other  prisoner  had  not  been 
confined  on  the  upper  deck,  but  had  been  more  securely 
hidden  away  below,  where  her  presence  on  board  would 


222  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

better  escape  detection.  For  what  purpose?  A  sinister 
one,  beyond  all  doubt — the  expression  of  a  vague  fear  in 
Kirby's  heart  that,  through  some  accident,  her  identity 
might  be  discovered,  and  his  plans  disarranged.  I  was 
beginning  to  suspect  I  might  not  have  rightly  gauged 
those  plans.  The  first  suspicion  which  assailed  me  was 
whether  or  not  the  man  himself  had  already  determined 
that  his  prisoner  was  not  merely  a  helpless  slave  in  his 
hands,  to  be  dealt  with  as  he  pleased  under  the  law,  but 
a  free  white  woman.  If  so,  and  he  still  desired  to  keep 
control,  he  would  naturally  guard  her  all  the  more  closely 
from  either  speech,  or  contact  with  others.  His  only 
safety  would  lie  in  such  action.  I  had  heard  him  express 
boastingly  his  original  design  relative  to  both  these  girls ; 
I  comprehended  the  part  he  intended  Eloise  Beaucaire 
to  play  in  his  future,  and  realized  that  he  cared  more  to 
gain  possession  of  her,  to  get  her  into  his  power,  than 
he  did  to  obtain  control  of  the  slave.  This  knowledge 
helped  me  to  understand  the  predicament  which  this  reve 
lation  put  him  into,  and  how  desperately  he  would  strive 
to  retain  the  upper  hand.  If,  in  very  truth,  she  was  Judge 
Beaucaire's  white  daughter,  and  could  gain  communica 
tion  with  others  of  her  class,  bringing  to  them  proof  of 
her  identity,  there  would  be  real  men  enough  on  board 
the  Adventurer  to  rally  to  her  support.  Those  army 
officers  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  overcome  any  friends 
Kirby  might  call  upon,  and  in  that  case  the  gambler's 
house  of  cards  would  fall  instantly  into  ruins.  We  were 
already  sailing  through  free  territory,  and  even  now  he 
held  on  to  his  slaves  rather  through  courtesy  than  law. 
Once  it  was  whispered  that  one  of  these  slaves  was  white, 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK  223 

the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  planter,  stolen  by  force,  the 
game  would  be  up. 

But  would  she  ever  proclaim  her  right  to  freedom  ?  It 
seemed  like  a  strange  question,  and  yet  there  remained 
a  reason  still  for  silence.  If  she  was  indeed  Eloise  Beau- 
caire — and  even  as  to  this  I  was  not  as  yet  wholly  con 
vinced  —  she  had  deliberately  assumed  to  be  Rene,  doing 
so  for  a  specific  purpose  —  that  object  being  to  afford 
the  other  an  opportunity  for  escape.  She,  conscious  of 
her  white  blood,  her  standing  of  respectability,  had  felt 
reasonably  safe  in  this  escapade;  had  decided  that  no 
great  harm  could  befall  her  through  such  a  masquerade 
for  a  few  days.  If  worst  came  to  worst  she  could  openly 
proclaim  her  name  at  any  moment,  assured  of  protection 
at  the  hands  of  anyone  present,  and  thus  defy  Kirby. 
I  recalled  to  memory  their  conversation,  which  I  had 
overheard  in  the  library  at  Beaucaire;  and  I  understood 
now  what  had  easily  led  to  all  this — her  belief,  from 
Kirby's  own  words,  that  nothing  further  could  be  done 
until  the  necessary  legal  papers  had  been  served  on  her 
in  person.  This  faith,  coupled  with  the  mysterious  dis 
appearance  of  Rene  and  the  quadroon  mother,  and  her 
being  mistaken  for  the  absent  girl,  all  led  her  inevitably 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  must  continue  to  act  out  the  part 
assumed  until  those  others  were  safe  beyond  pursuit. 
With  quick  wit  she  had  grasped  this  chance  for  service; 
had  encouraged  Kirby  to  believe  her  the  slave,  and  then, 
in  sudden  desperation,  had  been  driven  into  trusting  me 
in  an  effort  to  keep  out  of  his  hands. 

This  theory  seemed  possible  enough ;  yet  what  she 
might  decide  to  do  now,  under  the  stress  of  these  new 


224 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

conditions,  was  no  less  a  problem.  She  possessed  no 
knowledge  regarding  the  others,  such  as  I  did.  She  had 
no  means  of  guessing  that  the  two  others  had  already 
actually  escaped,  and  were  even  then  beyond  the  power 
of  their  pursuers.  Her  one  thought  still  would  be  the 
continuation  of  deceit,  the  insistence  that  she  was  Rene. 
To  do  otherwise  would  defeat  her  purpose,  make  her 
previous  sacrifice  useless.  She  must  still  fight  silently 
for  delay.  Why,  she  had  not  so  much  as  trusted  me. 
From  the  very  beginning  she  had  encouraged  me  in  the 
belief  that  she  was  a  negress,  never  once  arousing  the 
faintest  suspicion  in  my  mind.  Not  by  the  slip  of  the 
tongue,  or  the  glance  of  an  eye,  had  she  permitted  either 
of  us  to  forget  the  barrier  of  race  between.  Nothing 
then,  I  was  convinced,  short  of  death  or  disgrace,  could 
ever  compel  her  to  confess  the  truth  yet.  Kirby  might 
suspect,  might  fear,  but  he  had  surely  never  learned  who 
she  was  from  her  lips  —  that  she  was  Eloise  Beaucaire. 

And  was  she?  Was  the  proof  of  her  identity,  as  yet 
produced,  the  story  of  Elsie  Clark,  sufficiently  satisfactory 
to  my  own  mind  ?  It  became  more  so  as  I  thought,  as  I 
remembered.  Every  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  seemed 
to  fall  noiselessly  into  its  place,  now  that  I  compared  my 
own  experience  with  the  details  furnished  me  by  the 
mulatto  girl.  No  other  conclusion  appeared  possible, 
or  probable;  no  other  solution  fully  met  the  facts  in  the 
case.  The  conviction  that  this  young  woman  was  white, 
educated,  refined,  the  daughter  of  good  blood  —  no  fleeing 
negress,  cursed  with  the  black  stain  of  an  alien  race,  a 
nameless  slave  —  brought  to  me  a  sudden  joy  in  discovery 
I  made  no  attempt  to  conceal.  "Eloise  Beaucaire,  Eloise 


STORY  OF  ELSIE  CLARK 225 

Beaucaire" —  the  name  repeated  itself  on  my  lips,  as 
though  it  were  a  refrain.  I  knew  instantly  what  it  all 
meant  —  that  some  divine,  mysterious  hand  had  led  from 
the  very  hour  of  my  leaving  Fort  Armstrong,  and  would 
continue  to  lead  until  the  will  of  God  was  done.  It  was 
not  in  the  stars  of  Fate  that  such  villainy  should  succeed; 
such  sacrifice  as  hers  fail  of  its  reward.  I  might  not  know 
where  to  turn,  or  what  to  do ;  yet  it  was  with  far  lighter 
heart,  a  heart  stimulated  by  new  hope,  the  gleam  of  love, 
that  I  faced  the  task  before  me. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  LANDING  AT  YELLOW   BANKS 

lyfEVERTHELESS,  in  spite  of  this  resolve,  and  the 
•*•  ^  fresh  courage  which  had  been  awakened  within  me 
by  the  faith  that  from  now  on  I  battled  for  the  love  of 
Eloise  Beaucaire,  no  immediate  opportunity  for  service 
came.  All  that  the  Clark  girl  knew  of  her  present  where 
abouts  was  that  she  had  been  lifted  on  board,  and,  in  all 
probability,  taken  below.  Certainly  the  girl  had  not  been 
cabined  on  the  upper  deck;  nor  was  I  at  present  in  any 
position  to  seek  openly  the  place  of  her  confinement.  I 
could  only  wait  patiently,  and  observe. 

Supper  was  served  me  in  front  of  the  boilers,  in  com- 
'pany  with  the  rest  of  the  crew.  Later,  I  was  assigned  a 
sleeping  space  on  the  lower  deck,  barely  wide  enough  to 
lie  in,  and  was  permitted  to  sit  among  the  others,  under 
the  uptilt  of  the  swinging  gangway,  listening  to  their 
boisterousness,  and  rough  play,  or  watching  the  dusk  of 
evening  descend  over  the  deserted  waters,  as  the  laboring 
steamer  battled  against  the  current.  It  was  a  still,  black 
night,  and  the  Adventurer  made  extremely  slow  progress, 
a  leadsman  at  the  bow  calling  off  the  depth  of  water,  and 
a  huge  light,  rather  ingeniously  arranged,  casting  a 
finger  of  radiance  along  the  ghostly  shore  line.  With 
no  marks  of  guidance  on  either  bank,  the  wheelsman  felt 
his  uncertain  passage  upward,  advancing  so  cautiously 
progress  was  scarcely  noticeable,  and  I  could  frequently 

226 


LANDING  AT  YELLOW  BANKS          227 

distinguish  the  voice  of  the  anxious  captain  from  the 
upper  deck,  above  the  hiss  of  the  steam,  as  he  called  some 
hasty  warning.  In  all  probability  we  should  have  even 
tually  been  compelled  to  tie  up  against  the  bank,  and  await 
daylight,  but  for  the  disappearance  of  the  heavy  masses 
of  clouds  overhead,  and  the  welcome  gleam  of  myriads 
of  stars,  reflected  along  the  smooth  surface  of  the  water. 

Three  times,  at  intervals,  I  made  an  effort  to  explore 
the  second  deck,  but  each  time  met  with  failure  to  accom 
plish  my  object.  The  narrow  space  extending  between 
rail  and  cabin  never  seemed  entirely  deserted,  and  my 
last  attempt  brought  me  face  to  face  With  Mapes,  who 
very  curtly  ordered  me  below,  accompanying  his  com 
mand  with  a  profane  request  to  remain  there.  To  protest, 
and  thus  possibly  arouse  the  mate's  suspicion  as  to  the 
purpose  of  my  presence  on  board,  would  have  resulted  in 
greater  damage  to  our  cause  than  any  probable  peril  of 
the  coming  night.  So  I  obeyed  without  a  word,  deeming 
it  best  to  lie  down  quietly  in  the  space  allotted,  and 
endeavor  to  think  out  some  feasible  plan  for  the  morrow, 
rather  than  be  caught  again  prowling  around  blindly  in 
the  dark.  To  assist  me  in  this  decision  Mapes  hung  about 
the  lower  deck,  until  satisfied  that  I  had  actually  turned  in. 

But  I  made  no  effort  to  sleep,  and  my  mind  remained 
busy.  Even  in  the  course  of  those  brief  excursions  I 
had  acquired  some  little  information  of  value,  and  of 
a  nature  to  leave  me  more  at  ease.  I  was  now  convinced 
that  Kirby,  whatever  might  be  his  ultimate  purpose 
regarding  the  girl,  had  no  present  intention  of  doing  her 
further  injury.  He  contemplated  no  immediate  attempt 
at  forcible  possession,  and  would  be  well  satisfied  if  he 


228  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

could  only  continue  to  hold  her  in  strict  seclusion.  The 
thing  he  was  guarding  against  now,  and  while  they 
remained  on  board,  was  escape  from  discovery. 

I  could  easily  understand  the  reason  for  this.  He  dare 
not  expose  her  to  the  view  of  others,  or  permit  her  the 
slightest  opportunity  to  appeal  to  them  for  rescue 
Whether  the  man  still  believed  her  to  be  of  negro  blood, 
or  not,  the  girl's  unusual  appearance  would  be  certain  to 
exercise  more  weight  than  his  unsupported  word  —  her 
refined,  Caucasian  face,  the  purity  of  her  language,  her 
simple  story,  would  assuredly  win  an  instant  response 
from  many  of  those  on  board.  These  waters  were  too 
far  to  the  northward  to  be  a  safe  hiding  place  for  slave- 
hunters,  and  Kirby  must  be  fully  aware  —  knowing  the 
characteristics  of  the  river  as  he  did  —  that  his  only 
security  lay  in  keeping  this  woman  in  seclusion,  carefully 
hidden  away  under  lock  and  key,  until  he  held  her  com 
pletely  in  his  power,  in  a  land  where  slavery  was  king. 
Then  he  could  play  the  brute,  but  not  here.  I  was  con 
vinced  the  man  possessed  brains  and  caution  enough  to 
deliberately  choose  this  course  —  to  do  otherwise  would 
mark  him  a  fool,  and  that  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Even  his  reckless  bravado  would  never  drive  him  into  an 
utterly  unnecessary  peril.  All  that  he  planned  to  accom 
plish  later,  could  wait;  but  now  his  only  purpose  was 
to  protect  her  from  observation ;  to  encourage  his  fellow- 
travelers  to  even  forget  that  he  had  any  slaves  on  board. 
There  was  a  game  of  cards  going  on  in  the  salon,  in  which 
he  was  participating,  but  Tim,  not  concerned  in  it,  was 
wandering  back  and  forth,  up  and  down  the  ladder, 
watchful  of  every  movement  about  the  two  decks,  and 


LANDING  AT  YELLOW  BANKS          229 

making  it  extremely  difficult  for  anyone  to  pass  his  guard. 
Satisfied  as  to  this,  and  being  intensely  weary  from  my 
night  without  rest,  and  the  hard  work  of  the  day,  before 
I  even  realized  the  possibility,  I  fell  sound  asleep. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  following  afternoon 
when  the  Adventurer  poked  her  blunt  nose  around  a 
point  of  land,  and  came  into  full  view  of  the  squalid 
hamlet  of  Yellow  Banks.  A  half-hour  later  we  lay 
snuggled  up  against  the  shore,  holding  position  amid  sev 
eral  other  boats  made  fast  to  stout  trees,  busily  unloading, 
and  their  broad  gangplanks  stretching  from  forward 
deck  to  bank.  All  about  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and 
bustle,  mud,  and  frontier  desolation.  Inspired  by  the 
ceaseless  profanity  of  both  mates,  the  roustabouts  began 
unloading  cargo  at  once,  a  steady  stream  of  men,  black 
and  white,  burdened  with  whatever  load  they  could  snatch 
up,  moving  on  an  endless  run  across  the  stiff  plank,  and 
up  the  low  bank  to  the  drier  summit.  It  chanced  to  be 
my  good  fortune  to  escape  this  labor,  having  been  detailed 
by  Mapes  to  drag  boxes,  bales  and  barrels  forward  to 
where  the  hurrying  bearers  could  grasp  them  more  read 
ily.  This  brought  me  close  to  the  forward  stairs,  down 
which  the  departing  passengers  trooped,  threading  their 
insecure  way  among  the  trotting  laborers,  in  an  effort  to 
get  ashore. 

All  this  deck  was  sufficiently  unobstructed  so  as  to 
afford  me  glimpses  without,  and  for  some  distance  along 
the  bank;  and  it  was  not  difficult  for  one  with  military 
training  quickly  to  sense  the  situation,  especially  as  I  over 
heard  much  of  the  conversation  between  Mapes  and 
the  young  lieutenant  quartermaster  who  immediately 


230  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

came  aboard.  A  more  desolate,  God-forsaken  spot  than 
Yellow  Banks  I  never  saw.  It  had  been  raining  hard,  and 
the  slushy  clay  stuck  to  everything  it  touched;  the  men 
were  bathed  in  it,  their  boots  so  clogged  they  could 
hardly  walk,  while  what  few  horses  I  saw  were  yellow 
to  their  eyes.  The  passengers  going  ashore  waded  ankle 
deep  the  moment  they  stepped  off  the  plank,  and  rushes 
and  dried  grass  had  been  thrown  on  the  ground  to  protect 
the  cargo.  Only  three  log  houses  were  visible,  miserable 
shacks,  one  of  them  a  saloon,  evidently  doing  a  thriving 
business.  In  most  cases  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
the  civilian  inhabitants  from  their  soldier  guests.  Rey 
nolds'  troops,  all  militia,  and  the  greater  part  of  them 
mounted,  were  an  extremely  sorry-looking  lot  —  sturdy 
enough  physically,  of  the  pioneer  type,  but  bearing  little 
soldierly  appearance,  and  utterly  ignorant  of  discipline. 
They  had  been  hastily  gathered  together  at  Beardstown, 
and,  without  drill,  marched  across  country  to  this  spot. 
Whatever  of  organization  had  been  attempted  was  worked 
out  en  route,  the  men  being  practically  without  uniforms, 
tents,  or  even  blankets,  while  the  arms  they  bore  repre 
sented  every  separate  species  ever  invented.  I  saw  them 
straggle  past  with  long  squirrel  rifles,  Hessian  muskets, 
and  even  one  fellow  proudly  bearing  a  silver-mounted 
derringer.  The  men  had  chosen  officers  from  out  their 
own  ranks  by  popular  election,  and  these  exercised  their 
authority  very  largely  through  physical  prowess. 

We  had  an  excellent  illustration  of  this  soon  after  tying 
up  at  the  landing.  A  tall,  lank,  ungainly  officer,  with  a 
iace  so  distinctively  homely  as  to  instantly  attract  my 
attention,  led  his  company  of  men  up  the  river  bank,  and 


LANDING  ~AT  YELLOW  BANKS          231 

ordered  them  to  transport  the  pile  of  commissary  stores 
from  where  they  had  been  promiscuously  thrown  to  a 
drier  spot  farther  back.  The  officer  was  a  captain,  to 
judge  from  certain  stripes  of  red  cloth  sewed  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  brown  jean  blouse,  but  his  men  were  far 
from  prompt  in  obeying  his  command,  evidently  having 
no  taste  for  the  job.  One  among  them,  apparently  their 
ringleader  in  incipient  mutiny,  an  upstanding  bully  with 
the  jaw  of  a  prize-fighter,  took  it  upon  himself  openly  to 
defy  the  officer,  exclaiming  profanely  that  he'd  be  damned 
if  he  ever  enlisted  to  do  nigger  work.  The  others  laughed, 
and  joined  in  the  revolt,  until  the  captain  unceremo 
niously  flung  off  his  blouse,  thus  divesting  himself  of 
every  vestige  of  rank,  and  proceeded  to  enforce  his 
authority.  It  was  a  battle  royal,  the  soldiers  crowding 
eagerly  about,  and  yelling  encouragement  impartially 
first  to  one  combatant,  and  then  another. 

"Kick  him  in  the  ribs,  Sam!" 

"Now,  Abe,  yer've  got  him  —  crack  the  damn  cuss's 
neck." 

"By  golly!  that's  the  way  we  do  it  in  ol'  Salem." 

"He's  got  yer  now,  Jenkins,  he's  got  yer  now  —  good 
boy,  Abe." 

Exactly  what  occurred  I  could  not  see,  but  when  the 
circle  of  wildly  excited  men  finally  broke  apart,  the  big 
rebel  was  lying  flat  on  his  back  in  the  yellow  mud,  and  the 
irate  officer  was  indicating  every  inclination  to  press  him 
down  out  of  sight. 

"Hav'  yer  hed  'nough,  Sam  Jenkins?"  he  questioned 
breathlessly.  "Then,  blame  ye,  say  so." 

"All  right,  Abe  —  yerVe  bested  me  this  time." 


232 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Will  yer  tote  them  passels?" 

The  discomfited  Jenkins,  one  of  whose  eyes  was  closed, 
and  full  of  clay,  attempted  a  sickly  grin. 

"Hell!  yes,"  he  admitted,  "I'd  sure  admire  ter  dew  it." 

The  conqueror  released  his  grip,  and  stood  up,  revealing 
his  full  height,  and  reaching  out  for  the  discarded  blouse, 
quietly  slipped  it  on.  One  of  the  Adventurer's  passen 
gers,  an  officer  in  uniform,  going  ashore,  another  tall, 
spare  man,  had  halted  on  the  gangplank  to  watch  the 
contest.  Now  he  stepped  forward  to  greet  the  victor, 
with  smiling  eyes  and  outstretched  hand. 

"Not  so  badly  done,  Captain,"  he  said  cordially.  "I  am 
Lieutenant  Jefferson  Davis,  of  General  Atcheson's  staff, 
and  may  have  a  good  word  to  say  regarding  your  efficiency 
some  time." 

The  other  wiped  his  clay-bespattered  fingers  on  his 
dingy  jean  pants,  and  gripped  the  offered  hand,  appear 
ing  homelier  than  ever  because  of  a  smear  of  blood  on 
one  cheek. 

"Thank  ye,  sir,"  he  answered  good  humoredly.  "I'm 
Abe  Lincoln,  of  Salem,  Illinoy,  an'  I  ain't  got  but  just 
one  job  right  now  —  that's  ter  make  them  boys  tote  this 
stuff,  an'  I  reckon  they're  goin'  ter  do  it." 

With  the  exchange  of  another  word  or  two  they  parted, 
and  not  until  thirty  years  later  did  I  realize  what  that 
chance  meeting  meant,  there  in  the  clay  mud  of  Yellow 
Banks,  at  the  edge  of  the  Indian  wilderness,  when 
Abraham  Lincoln,  of  Illinois,  and  Jefferson  Davis, 
of  Mississippi,  stood  in  comradeship  with  clasped 
hands. 

I  recognized  the  majority  of  those  disembarking  pas- 


LANDlNG^  AT  YELLOW  BANKS          233 

sengers  who  passed  by  me  within  a  few  feet,  but  saw 
nothing  of  Kirby,  the  deputy  sheriff,  or  caught  any 
glimpse  of  their  prisoners.  The  only  conclusion  was  that 
they  still  remained  on  board.  I  was  not  at  all  surprised 
at  this,  as  their  intention  undoubtedly  was  to  continue 
with  the  steamer,  and  return  south  the  moment  the  cargo 
of  commissary  and  quartermaster's  stores  had  been  dis 
charged.  Neither  had  any  interest  in  the  war,  and  there 
was  nothing  ashore  to  attract  them  which  could  not  be 
comfortably  viewed  from  the  upper  deck.  It  was  safer 
far  to  keep  close  guard  over  their  charges,  and  see  that 
they  remained  out  of  sight. 

We  had  unloaded  perhaps  a  quarter  of  our  supplies, 
when  an  officer  suddenly  appeared  over  the  crest  of  the 
bank  and  hailed  the  captain.  There  was  a  tone  of 
authority  in  his  voice  which  caused  us  to  knock  of!  work 
and  listen. 

"Is  Captain  Corcoran  there  ?  Oh,  you  are  Captain  Cor 
coran.  Well,  I  bring  orders  from  headquarters.  You  are 
to  discontinue  unloading,  Captain,  retain  the  remainder  of 
the  provisions  on  board,  and  prepare  at  once  to  take  on 
men.  What's  your  capacity?" 

"Take  on  men?    Soldiers,  you  mean?" 

"Exactly;  we've  got  to  find  quarters  for  about  seven 
hundred.  Two  of  those  boats  up  yonder  will  take  horses. 
The  troops  will  be  along  within  an  hour." 

"We  are  not  to  return  south,  then?" 

"No ;  you're  going  in  the  other  direction  —  up  the  Rock. 
You  better  get  busy." 

He  \vheeled  his  horse  and  disappeared,  leaving  the  angry 
captain  venting  his  displeasure  on  the  vacant  air.  Kirby, 


234 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

evidently  from  some  position  across  the  deck,  broke  in 
with  a  sharp  question. 

"What  was  that,  Corcoran?  Did  the  fellow  say  you 
were  not  going  back  to  St.  Louis  ?" 

"That's  just  what  he  said.  Damn  this  being  under 
military  orders.  We've  got  to  nose  our  way  up  Rock 
River,  with  a  lot  of  those  measly  soldiers  aboard.  It's 
simply  hell.  Here  you,  Mapes,  stop  that  unloading,  and 
get  steam  up  —  we've  got  to  put  in  a  night  of  it." 

"But,"  insisted  Kirby  in  disgust,  "I'm  not  going  up 
there;  aren't  there  any  boats  going  down?" 

"How  the  hell  should  I  know?  Go  ashore  and  find 
out  —  you  haven't  anything  else  to  do.  According  to 
what  he  said,  this  boat  casts  off  in  half  an  hour  and  heads 
north." 

The  men  below  knocked  off  work  willingly  enough, 
and,  taking  advantage  of  the  confusion  on  board,  I 
endeavored  to  creep  up  the  stairs  and  gain  a  view  of  the 
upper  deck.  But  both  Mapes  and  the  second  mate  made 
this  attempt  impossible,  forcing  me  into  the  ranks  of 
the  others,  and  compelling  us  to  restow  the  cargo.  The 
methods  they  adopted  to  induce  sluggards  to  take  hold 
were  not  gentle  ones,  and  we  were  soon  jumping  at  the 
snarl  of  their  voices,  as  though  each  utterance  was  the 
crack  of  a  whip.  By  a  little  diplomacy,  I  managed,  how 
ever,  to  remain  within  general  view  of  the  gangway  and 
the  stairs  descending  from  the  deck  above,  confident  that 
no  one  could  pass  me  unseen.  This  watch  brought  no 
results,  except  to  convince  me  that  Kirby  and  his  party 
still  remained  aboard.  So  far  as  I  could  perceive,  no 
attempt  to  depart  was  made  by  anyone,  excepting  a  big 


LANDING  AT  YELLOW  BANKS          235 

fellow  with  a  red  moustache,  who  swore  profanely  as  he 
struggled  through  the  mud,  dragging  a  huge  valise. 

The  situation  puzzled  and  confused  me.  What  choice 
would  Kirby  and  the  deputy  make?  If  once  up  Rock 
River  the  Adventurer  might  very  likely  not  return  for 
weeks,  and  it  did  not  seem  to  me  possible  that  the  impa 
tient  gambler  would  consent  to  such  a  delay.  Every 
advance  northward  brought  with  it  a  new  danger  of 
exposure.  These  were  Illinois  troops  to  be  transported  — 
not  regulars,  but  militia,  gathered  from  a  hundred  ham 
lets —  and  many  among  them  would  be  open  enemies  of 
slavery.  Let  such  men  as  these,  rough  with  the  pioneer 
sense  of  justice,  once  suspect  the  situation  of  those  two 
women,  especially  if  the  rumor  got  abroad  among  them 
that  Eloise  was  white,  and  the  slave-hunter  would  have 
a  hard  row  to  hoe.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  such  a  rumor 
should  be  sown  broadcast;  aye,  more,  that,  if  the  necessity 
arose,  I  would  throw  off  my  own  disguise  and  front  him 
openly  with  the  charge.  Seemingly  there  remained  noth 
ing  else  to  do,  and  I  outlined  this  course  of  action,  growing 
more  confident  as  the  minutes  sped,  that  the  two  men  had 
determined  to  take  their  chances  and  remain  aboard  with 
the  prisoners.  No  doubt  they  hesitated  to  leap  from  the 
frying  pan  into  the  fire,  for  perilous  as  it  might  prove 
to  continue  as  passengers  of  the  Adventurer,  an  even 
greater  danger  might  confront  them  ashore,  in  that  undis 
ciplined  camp.  Aboard  the  steamer  they  could  keep  their 
victims  safely  locked  in  the  cabins,  unseen,  their  presence 
unknown;  while  probably  Captain  Corcoran  and  his  two 
mates,  all  southern  men,  would  protect  their  secret.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this,  most  likely,  had  been  the  final 


236  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

decision  reached,  and  I  determined  to  stick  also,  prepared 
to  act  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  I  could  do  no  more. 

It  was  only  an  accident  which  gave  me  a  clue  to  the  real 
program.  Mapes  sent  me  back  into  the  vacant  space  just 
forward  of  the  paddle-wheel,  seeking  a  lost  cant-hook, 
and,  as  I  turned  about  to  return  the  missing  tool  in  my 
hand,  I  paused  a  moment  to  glance  curiously  out  through 
a  slit  in  the  boat's  planking,  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a 
loud  voice  uttering  a  command.  I  was  facing  the  shore, 
and  a  body  of  men,  ununi formed,  slouching  along  with 
small  regard  to  order,  but  each  bearing  a  rifle  across  his 
shoulder,  were  just  tipping  the  ridge  and  plowing  their 
way  down  through  the  slippery  clay  in  the  direction  of 
the  forward  gangway.  They  were  noisy,  garrulous,  pro 
fane,  their  mingled  voices  drowning  the  shouts  of  their 
officers,  yet  advanced  steadily — -the  troops  destined  for 
Rock  River  were  filing  aboard.  I  saw  the  column  clearly 
enough,  all  the  soldier  in  me  revolting  to  such  criminal 
lack  of  discipline,  and  the  thought  of  hurling  such 
untrained  men  as  these  into  Indian  battle.  Yet,  although 
I  saw,  not  for  an  instant  did  my  gaze  linger  on  their  dis 
ordered  ranks.  The  sight  which  held  me  motionless  was 
rather  that  of  a  long,  broad  plank,  protected  on  either 
side  by  a  rope  rail,  stretching  from  the  slope  of  the 
second  deck  across  the  narrow  gulf  of  water,  until  it 
rested  its  other  end  firmly  against  the  bank. 

The  meaning  of  this  was  sufficiently  apparent.  For 
some  reason  of  his  own,  Kirby  had  evidently  chosen  this 
means  of  attaining  the  shore,  and  through  personal  friend 
ship,  Corcoran  had  consented  to  aid  his  purpose.  The 
reason,  plainly  enough,  was  that  by  use  of  this  stern  gang- 


LANDING  AT  YELLOW  BANKS          237 

way  the  landing  party  would  be  enabled  to  attain  the 
bank  without  the  necessity  of  pushing  their  way  through 
the  crowd  of  idle  loungers  forward.  And  the  passage 
had  just  been  accomplished,  for,  as  my  eyes  focussed  the 
scene,  they  recognized  the  spare  figure  of  the  deputy  dis 
appearing  over  the  crest  —  a  vague  glimpse,  but  sufficient. 
At  the  same  instant  hands  above  began  to  draw  in  the 
plank. 

There  was  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do,  one  action  to 
take — follow  them.  Dropping  the  cant-hook,  I  turned 
aft  and  crept  forth  through  a  small  opening  onto  the 
wooden  frame  which  supported  the  motionless  paddle- 
wheel,  choosing  for  the  scene  of  operations  the  river 
side,  where  the  boat  effectively  concealed  my  movements 
from  any  prying  eyes  ashore.  Everyone  aboard  would 
be  clustered  forward,  curiously  watchful  of  that  line  of 
soldiers  filing  across  the  gangplank  and  seeking  quarters 
upon  deck.  The  only  danger  of  observation  lay  in  some 
straggler  along  the  near-by  bank.  I  lowered  myself  the 
full  length  of  my  arms,  dangling  there  an  instant  by 
clinging  to  the  framework;  then  loosened  my  grip  and 
dropped  silently  into  the  rushing  waters  beneath. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MY  FRIEND,  THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF 

TT  7  ELL  below  the  surface,  yet  impelled  swiftly  down 
ward  by  the  sturdy  rush  of  the  current,  sweeping 
about  the  steamer's  stern,  I  struck  out  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  arms,  anxious  to  attain  in  that  first  effort 
the  greatest  possible  distance.  I  came  panting  up  to 
breathe,  my  face  lifted  barely  above  the  surface,  dash 
ing  the  water  from  my  eyes,  and  casting  one  swift  glance 
backward  toward  the  landing.  The  high  stern  of  the 
Adventurer  was  already  some  considerable  distance  away, 
exhibiting  no  sign  of  movement  along  her  after-decks, 
but  with  that  snake-like  line  of  men  still  pouring  over 
the  crest  of  the  bank,  and  disappearing  forward.  Great 
volumes  of  black  smoke  swept  forth  from  the  funnels, 
and  my  ears  could  distinguish  the  ceaseless  hiss  of  steam. 
Again  I  permitted  my  body  to  sink  into  the  depths,  swim 
ming  onward  with  e.asier  stroke,  satisfied  I  had  not  been 
seen. 

When  I  came  up  the  second  time  I  was  quite  far  enough 
to  be  safe,  and  the  stragglers  had  largely  disappeared 
on  board.  Content  to  tread  water,  yet  constantly  drift 
ing  farther  away  in  the  trend  of  the  current,  I  was  able 
to  observe  all  that  took  place.  The  sun  had  disappeared, 
and  the  western  shore  rested  obscured  by  a  purple  haze, 
the  wide  stretch  of  water  between  slowly  darkening. 
Light  lingered  still,  however,  along  the  clay  hills  of  Yel- 

238 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF 239 

low  Banks,  crowded  with  those  soldiers  left  behind,  who 
had  gathered  to  speed  the  departure  of  their  more  for 
tunate  comrades.  The  decks  of  the  Adventurer  were 
black  with  men,  their  cheers  and  shouts  echoing  to  me 
along  the  surface  of  the  river.  Slowly  the  steamer  parted 
from  the  shore,  as  the  paddle-wheel  began  to  revolve, 
flinging  upward  a  cataract  of  spray,  the  space  of  open 
water  widening,  as  the  advancing  bow  sought  the  deeper 
channel,  and  headed  northward.  A  great  resounding 
cheer  from  both  ship  and  shore  mingled,  rolling  out  over 
the  darkening  waters  of  the  river,  and  echoed  back  by 
the  forests  along  the  bank.  Farther  up  two  other  boats 
—  mere  phantoms  in  their  white  paint  —  cast  off  also, 
and  followed,  their  smoke  wreaths  trailing  behind  as 
they  likewise  turned  their  prows  up  stream.  Ten  min 
utes  later  the  three  were  almost  in  line,  mere  blobs  of 
color,  barely  distinguishable  through  the  descending 
dusk. 

I  swam  slowly  ashore,  creeping  up  the  low  bank  into 
the  seclusion  of  a  shallow,  sandy  gully,  scooped  out  by 
the  late  rains.  The  air  was  mild,  and  I  experienced  no 
chill  from  my  wet  clothes,  the  warmth  of  the  sand  help 
ing  to  dry  them  on  my  body.  The  river  and  sky  were 
darkening  fast,  the  more  brilliant  stars  already  visible. 
The  western  shore  had  entirely  vanished,  while  nothing 
remained  in  evidence  of  those  department  boats  except 
the  dense  black  smoke  smudge  still  outlined  against  the 
lighter  arch  of  sky  overhead.  To  my  left  the  camp  fires 
of  the  soldiers  still  remaining  at  Yellow  Banks  began  to 
show  red  with  flame  through  the  shadows  of  intervening 
trees,  and  I  could  hear  the  noise  of  hammering,  together 


240  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

with  an  occasional  strident  voice.  Immediately  about 
me  all  was  silent,  the  steadily  deepening  gloom  rendering 
my  surroundings  vaguely  indistinct. 

Thus  far  I  possessed  no  plan  —  except  to  seek  her. 
How  this  was  to  be  accomplished  appeared  in  no  way 
clear.  I  lay  there,  my  mind  busy  with  the  perplexing 
problem.  Where  could  Kirby  go,  now  that  he  was 
ashore?  How  could  he  hope  to  find  concealment  in  the 
midst  of  that  rough  camp?  that  little,  squalid  frontier 
settlement  of  a  few  log  huts?  Could  it  be  possible  that 
he  had  friends  there  —  old  cronies  to  whom  he  might 
venture  to  appeal  for  shelter,  and  protection?  men  of 
his  own  kidney  to  whom  he  could  confide  his  secret  ?  As 
the  thought  occurred  to  me  it  seemed  quite  possible;  in 
deed  it  scarcely  appeared  probable  that  he  would,  under 
any  other  circumstances,  have  made  the  choice  he  did. 
Surely  such  a  man  could  never  have  risked  going  ashore 
unless  some  definite  plan  of  action  had  already  formu 
lated  itself  in  his  mind.  And  why  should  the  fellow  not 
possess  friends  at  Yellow  Banks?  He  knew  the  river 
intimately  and  all  the  river  towns;  possibly  he  had  even 
landed  here  before.  He  was  a  man  feared,  hated,  but 
obeyed  the  full  length  of  the  great  stream;  his  name  stood 
for  reckless  daring,  unscrupulous  courage  everywhere; 
he  could  command  the  admiration  and  loyalty  of  every 
vicious  character  in  the  steamboat  service  between  Fort 
Crawford  and  New  Orleans.  It  was  hardly  likelv  that 
none  of  these  men,  floaters  at  best,  were  in  this  miscel 
laneous  outpouring  of  militia;  indeed  it  was  almost  cer 
tain  there  would  be  some  officers  among  them,  as  well 
as  enlisted  men. 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF  241 

As  my  thought  grasped  these  facts,  they  led  to  the  only 
possible  decision.  I  would  venture  forward,  rather 
blindly  trusting  that  good  fortune  might  direct  my  steps 
aright.  I  would  have  to  discover  first  of  all,  where  Kirby 
had  taken  Eloise  —  into  whose  hands  he  had  deposited 
the  girl  for  safe  keeping.  This  task  ought  not  to  be 
difficult.  The  settlement  was  small,  and  the  camp  itself 
not  a  large  one;  no  such  party  could  hope  to  enter  its 
confines  without  attracting  attention,  and  causing  com 
ment.  There  was  but  slight  discipline,  and  the  majority 
of  the  soldiery  were  simple-hearted,  honest  fellows  who 
could  be  easily  induced  to  talk.  Once  I  had  thus  suc 
ceeded  in  locating  her,  the  rest  ought  to  prove  compara 
tively  easy  —  a  mere  matter  of  action.  For  I  had  deter 
mined  to  play  the  spy  no  longer;  to  cease  being  a  mere 
shadow.  To  my  mind  the  excuse  for  masquerade  no 
longer  existed.  The  two  fugitives  were  already  safely 
on  their  way  toward  Canada,  beyond  any  possibility  of 
pursuit ;  and,  from  now  on,  I  could  better  play  my  game 
in  the  open,  confident  that  I  held  the  winning  hand  in 
my  knowledge  of  the  girl's  identity. 

So  I  proposed  finding  Eloise,  and  telling  her  the  whole 
truth;  following  that,  and  assured  of  her  support,  I 
would  defy  Kirby,  denounce  him  if  necessary  to  the 
military  authorities,  identifying  myself  by  means  of  my 
army  commission,  and  insist  on  the  immediate  release 
of  the  girl.  The  man  had  broken  no  law  —  unless  the 
wanton  killing  of  Shrunk  could  be  proven  against  him 
—  and  I  might  not  be  able  to  compel  his  arrest.  What 
ever  he  suspected  now  relative  to  his  prisoner,  he  had 
originally  supposed  her  to  be  his  slave,  his  property, 


242  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

and  hence  possessed  a  right  under  the  law  to  restrain 
her  liberty.  But  even  if  I  was  debarred  from  bringing 
the  man  to  punishment,  I  could  break  his  power,  and 
overturn  his  plans.  Beyond  that  it  would  be  a  personal 
matter  between  us ;  and  the  thought  gave  me  joy.  Cer 
tainly  this  method  of  procedure  looked  feasible  to  me; 
I  saw  in  it  no  probability  of  failure,  for,  no  matter  how 
many  friends  the  gambler  might  have  in  camp,  or  the 
influence  they  could  exert  in  his  behalf,  they  could  never 
overcome  the  united  testimony  I  was  now  able  to  pro 
duce.  The  mere  statement  of  the  girl  that  she  was  Eloise 
Beaucaire  would  be  sufficient  to  free  her. 

I  attained  my  feet,  confident  and  at  ease,  and  advanced 
up  the  gully,  moving  cautiously,  so  as  not  to  run  blindly 
upon  some  sentry  post  in  the  darkness.  There  would  be 
nervous  soldiers  on  duty,  liable  to  fire  at  any  sound,  or 
suspicious  movement,  and  it  was  a  part  of  my  plan  to 
penetrate  the  lines  unseen,  and  without  inviting  arrest. 
Once  safely  within  the  confines  of  the  camp,  the  lack  in 
uniforms  and  discipline,  would  afford  ample  freedom, 
but  to  be  held  as  a  prisoner,  even  for  a  short  time,  might 
prove  a  very  serious  matter.  Within  a  short  distance 
the  gully  became  too  shallow  for  further  concealment. 
I  could  perceive  the  red  glow  of  the  fires  gleaming  out 
between  the  trees,  and  the  numerous  dark  figures  of 
men,  engaged  in  various  tasks,  or  lying  idly  about,  wait 
ing  a  call  from  the  cooks  to  supper.  My  judgment  told 
me  that  I  must  already  be  safely  within  the  picket  lines, 
able  to  walk  forward  unmolested,  and  mingle  with  these 
groups  fearlessly.  I  was  yet  standing  there,  uncertain 
as  to  which  group  I  should  choose  to  companion  with, 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF  243 

when  the  dim  figure  of  a  man,  unquestionably  drunk, 
came  weaving  his  uncertain  way  along  a  footpath  which 
ran  within  a  yard  of  my  position.  Even  in  that  dark 
ness,  not  yet  dense  with  night,  the  lank  figure  possessed 
an  outline  of  familiarity,  and  the  sudden  blazing  up  of 
a  fire  revealed  the  unmistakable  features  of  the  deputy. 

"Hullo,"  I  said,  happily,  stepping  directly  before  him. 
"When  did  you  come  ashore?" 

He  stopped  as  though  shot,  bracing  himself  with  diffi 
culty,  and  endeavoring  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  my  face. 

"Hello,  yerself,"  he  managed  to  ejaculate  thickly. 
"Who  are  yer  ?  f rien'  o'  mine  ?" 

"Why,  don't  yer  remember  me,  ol'  man?  I'm  the 
feller  who  wus  scrubbin'  the  paint  on  the  Adventurer. 
We  wus  talkin'  tergether  comin'  up.  I  wus  goin'  fer  ter 
enlist." 

"Hell!  yes;  glad  ter  see  yer.  Sum  hot  whisky  et  this 
camp — tried  eny?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  grasping  at  the  opportunity  to 
arouse  his  generosity.  "I  ain't  got  no  coin  to  buy.  They 
wudn't  let  me  leave  ther  boat,  ner  pay  me  a  picayune,  so 
I  just  skipped  out.  I'm  flat  broke;  maybe  yer  cud  stake 
me  fer  a  bite  ter  eat?" 

"Eat!"  he  flung  one  arm  lovingly  about  my  shoulders, 
and  burst  into  laughter.  "Yer  bet  yer  life,  we're  a 
goin'  ter  eat,  an'  drink  too.  I  don't  go  back  on  none  o' 
ther  boys.  Yer  never  heerd  nuthin'  like  thet  'bout  Tim 
Kennedy,  I  reckon.  Eat,  sure — yer  know  Jack  Rale?" 

"Never  heerd  the  name." 

"What,  hell!  never  heerd  o'  Jack  Rale!  Ol'  river 
man,  half  hoss,  half  alligator;  uster  tend  bar  in  Saint 


244  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

Louee.  He's  up  yere  now,  a  sellin'  forty-rod  ter  sojers. 
Cum  up  'long  with  him  frum  Beardstown.  Got  a  shack 
back  yere,  an'  is  a  gittin'  rich  —  frien'  o'  mine.  Yer 
just  cum  'long  with  me  —  thas  all." 

I  permitted  him  to  lead  me,  his  voice  never  ceasing  as 
we  followed  the  dim  trail.  I  made  out  little  of  what  he 
said,  nor  did  I  question  him.  Drunk  as  the  man  was,  I 
still  thought  it  best  to  wait  until  more  thoroughly  assured 
that  we  were  alone.  Besides  I  could  take  no  chance 
now  with  his  garrulous  tongue.  The  trail  ended  before 
a  two-room  log  cabin,  so  deeply  hidden  in  the  woods  as 
to  be  revealed  merely  by  a  glimmer  of  light  shining  out 
from  within  through  chinks  in  the  walls.  Tim  fumbled 
for  the  latch  and  finally  opened  the  door,  lurching  across 
the  threshold,  dragging  me  along  after  him.  The  room 
was  evidently  kitchen  and  bar  combined,  the  latter  an 
unplaned  board,  resting  on  two  upturned  kegs,  with  a 
shelf  behind  containing  an  array  of  bottles.  There  were 
two  men  at  a  sloppy  table,  a  disreputable  looking  white 
woman  stirring  the  contents  of  a  pot  hung  over  the 
open  fire,  and  a  fellow  behind  the  bar,  attired  in  a  dingy 
white  apron.  It  was  all  sordid  enough,  and  dirty  —  a 
typical  frontier  grogshop;  but  the  thing  of  most  inter 
est  to  me  was  the  proprietor.  The  fellow  was  the  same 
red-moustached  individual  whom  I  had  watched  disem 
bark  from  the  steamer  that  same  afternoon,  slipping  in 
the  yellow  mud  as  he  surmounted  the  bank,  dragging  his 
valise  along  after  him.  So  it  was  this  fellow  passenger 
who  had  given  these  fugitives  refuge;  it  was  his  presence 
in  these  parts  which  had  decided  Kirby  to  make  the  ven 
ture  ashore.  He  glanced  up  at  our  entrance,  the  glare 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF 245 

of  light  overhead  revealing  a  deep,  ugly  scar  across  his 
chin,  and  a  pair  of  deep-set,  scowling  eyes. 

"Back  in  time  fer  supper,  hey,  Kennedy,"  he  growled, 
none  too  cordially.  "Who's  yer  f rien'  ?" 

"A  feller  whut's  goin'  ter  enlist.  He's  all  right,  Jack/' 
the  deputy  hiccoughed  thickly.  "Les'  liquor,  an'  then 
we'll  eat.  I'm  payin'  the  bill  —  so  whut  the  hell  is  it 
ter  yer?" 

"Nuthin'  'tall;  eny  frien'  o'  yers  gits  ther  best  I  hav'. 
Corn  liquor,  I  reckon?" 

He  set  out  a  squat  bottle  on  the  bar,  and  thinking  it 
best  to  humor  the  both  of  them  I  poured  out  a  stiff  drink, 
fully  aware  that  Rale  was  observing  my  features  closely. 

"Seen  yer  afore  sumwhar,  ain't  I?" 

"I  reckon,"  I  replied  indifferently,  watching  Tim  fill 
his  glass.  "I  worked  my  way  up  on  the  boat;  saw  yer  on 
board." 

"Sure;  that's  it;  'tain't  in  my  line  fer  ter  forgit  a 
face.  Yer  ain't  enlisted  yit?" 

"No;  reckon  I'll  wait  till  maunin',  an'  clean  up  a  bit 
furst.  How  'bout  sum  soap  an'  water  fore  I  eat?  an' 
yer  cudn't  loan  me  a  razor,  cud  ye  ?" 

He  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively  with  stubby  fingers. 

"Wai'  I  got  plenty  o'  water,  an'  maybe  cud  scare  up 
sum  soap.  Tim  yere  he's  got  a  razor,  an',  if  he's  a  frien' 
o'  yers,  I  reckon  he  mought  lend  it  ter  yer  —  thet's  sure 
sum  hell  ov  a  beard  yer've  got." 

The  deputy  gulped  down  his  drink,  and  smacked  his 
lips,  clinging  with  one  hand  to  the  bar,  regarding  me 
lovingly. 

"Sure;  he's  friend'  o'  mine.     Shave  him  myself  soon's 


246  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

I  git  sober.  Stand  most  whisky  all  righ',  but  damn  if  I 
kin  this  kind  —  only  hed  three  drinks,  tha's  all  —  whut's 
thet?  Yer  can't  wait?  Oh,  all  righ'  then,  take  it  yerself. 
Mighty  fin'  razor,  ol'  man." 

Rale  found  me  a  tin  basin,  water,  a  bit  of  rag  for  a 
towel,  and  a  small,  cracked  mirror,  in  which  my  reflec 
tion  was  scarcely  recognizable.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  contenting  himself  with  uttering  merely  a  dry 
comment  on  Kennedy,  who  had  dropped  back  into  a  con 
venient  chair,  and  buried  his  face  on  the  table. 

"Tim's  a  damn  good  fellow,  an'  I  never  saw  him  so 
blame  drunk  afore,"  he  said,  regretfully.  "Know'd  him 
et  Saint  Louee;  used  ter  drop  in  ter  my  place.  He  an' 
Kirby  hed  a  row,  an'  I  reckon  thet's  whut  started  him 
drinkin'." 

"A  row;  a  quarrel,  you  mean?"  forgetting  myself  in 
surprise.  "Who's  Kirby?" 

"Joe  Kirby;  yer  sure  must  know  him,  if  yer  a  river 
man.  Slim  sorter  feller,  with  a  smooth  face;  slickest 
gambler  ever  wus,  I  reckon." 

"Why,  of  course,"  getting  control  of  myself  once 
more.  "We  picked  him  up,  'long  with  Tim,  down  river. 
Hed  two  women  with  'em,  didn't  they?  runaway 
niggers  ?" 

Rale  winked  facetiously,  evidently  rather  proud  of 
the  exploit  as  it  had  been  related  to  him. 

"Wai',  ther  way  I  understan',  they  wa'n't  both  of  'em 
niggers ;  however,  that  was  the  story  told  on  board.  This 
yere  Joe  Kirby  is  pretty  damn  slick,  let  me  tell  you.  One 
of  'em's  a  white  gurl,  who  just  pretended  she  wus  a  nig 
ger  I  reckon  thet  even  Kirby  didn't  catch  on  ter  her 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF  247 

game  et  furst;  an'  when  he  did  he  wus  too  blame  smart 
ter  ever  let  her  know.  She  don't  think  he  knows  yet, 
but  she's  liable  fer  ter  find  out  mighty  soon." 

"But  he  cannot  hold  a  white  woman."  I  protested 
stoutly. 

"Can't,  hey!  Wai',  I  reckon  there  are  ways  o'  even 
doin'  thet,  an'  if  thar  be,  Kirby'll  find  it.  They  say  thar's 
mor'n  one  way  ter  skin  a  cat,  an'  Joe  never  cut  his  eye 
teeth  yisterday,  let  me  tell  yer.  Thet  gurl's  not  only 
white  —  she's  got  money,  scads  ov  it,  and  is  a  good 
looker.  I  saw  her,  an'  she's  some  beaut;  Joe  ain"t 
passin'  up  nuthin'  like  that.  I  reckon  she  won't  find 
no  chance  ter  raise  a  holler  fore  he's  got  her  tied  good 
an'  strong." 

I  stared  blankly  at  the  fellow,  a  thousand  questions 
in  my  mind,  and  a  dim  perception  of  what  he  meant 
permeating  my  brain. 

"Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  horrified,  "that  he  will  com 
pel  her  to  marry  him?" 

"Sum  smart  little  guesser,  ain't  yer?  I  reckon  she's 
in  a  right  smart  way  ter  do  it,  et  thet." 

"And  wus  this  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  between  Kirby 
and  Kennedy?" 

"Wai',  I  reckon  it  wus;  leastwise  Tim  wudn't  be  mixed 
up  in  the  affair  none.  They  hed  it  prutty  blame  hot,  an' 
I  reckon  thar'd  bin  a  dead  deputy  if  hedn't  bin  fer  me. 
Tim  thought  I  wus  a  prutty  gud  frien'  an'  cum  over  yere 
ter  liquor,  an'  eat.  Ther  joke  ov  it  is,  he  never  know'd 
thet  Joe  hed  told  me  all  'bout  the  fix  he  wus  in,  afore 
we  cum  ashore.  Hell,  it  wus  all  fixed  up  whut  wus  ter 
be  done  —  only  we  didn't  expect  the  steamer  wus  goin' 


248  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

on  north.  Thar's  sum  boys  wantin'  a  drink;  see  yer 
agin." 

I  finished  shaving,  making  no  attempt  to  hurry,  busily 
thinking  over  this  new  situation.  In  the  first  place  why 
had  Rale  told  me  all  this  ?  Quite  probably  the  indiscre 
tion  never  occurred  to  him,  or  a  thought  that  the  matter 
would  prove  of  any  personal  interest  to  me.  He  had 
been  drinking,  and  was  in  a  reckless  mood;  he  believed 
me  a  common  river  roustabout,  with  few  scruples  of 
conscience,  and  possibly  had  even  picked  me  out  as  an 
assistant  in  the  affair.  I  felt  convinced  the  man  had 
some  purpose  in  his  conversation,  and  that  he  had  not 
finished  all  he  intended  to  say,  when  the  entrance  of 
customers  compelled  his  return  to  the  bar.  His  parting 
words  implied  that.  Perhaps  the  revolt  of  the  deputy 
made  it  necessary  for  the  conspirators  to  select  another 
helper  to  properly  carry  out  their  nefarious  scheme,  and 
Rale  had  decided  that  I  might  answer.  I  hoped  this 
might  prove  the  explanation,  and  determined  to  seek  the 
earliest  opportunity  to  impress  upon  that  individual  the 
'fact  that  I  was  desperately  in  need  of  money,  and  de 
cidedly  indifferent  as  to  how  it  was  obtained.  If  I  could 
only  have  a  moment  alone  with  Kennedy,  in  which  to 
learn  exactly  what  he  knew.  But  it  was  plainly  useless 
to  hope  for  this  privilege;  the  fellow  slept  soundly,  his 
face  hidden  in  his  arms,  the  sleep  of  complete  drunken 
ness. 

The  two  soldiers,  whose  entrance  had  interrupted  our 
talk,  remained  at  the  bar  drinking/ until  after  I  had  com 
pleted  my  toilet ;  and  were  still  there  listening  to  a  story 
Rale  was  telling,  when  the  slatternly  white  woman  an- 


THE  DEPUTY  SHERIFF  249 

nounced  that  supper  was  ready  to  serve.  Seemingly  I 
was  the  only  one  prepared  to  eat,  and  I  sat  down  alone  at 
a  small  table,  constructed  out  of  a  box,  and  attempted 
to  do  the  best  I  could  with  the  food  provided.  I  have 
never  eaten  a  worse  meal,  or  a  poorer  cooked  one;  nor 
ever  felt  less  inclination  to  force  myself  to  partake. 
Finally  the  soldiers  indulged  in  a  last  drink,  and  disap 
peared  through  the  door  into  the  night  without.  Tim  slept 
soundly,  while  the  other  men  remained  engrossed  in  their 
game  of  cards.  Rale  wiped  off  the  bar,  glanced  about 
at  these,  as  though  to  reassure  himself  that  they  were 
intent  on  their  play ;  then,  removing  his  apron,  he  crossed 
the  room,  and  drew  up  a  chair  opposite  me. 

"All  right,  Sal,"  he  grunted  shortly.     "Bring  on  whut 
yer  got." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   NEW  JOB 

TTE  REMAINED  silent,  staring  moodily  at  the  fire, 
^  •*•  until  after  the  woman  had  spread  out  the  dishes  on 
the  table  before  him.  Then  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  fare. 

"Nice  looking  mess  that,"  he  growled,  surveying  the 
repast  with  undisguised  disgust.  "No  wonder  we  don't 
do  no  business  with  thet  kind  ov  a  cook.  I  reckon  I'd 
a  done  better  to  hav'  toted  a  nigger  back  with  me.  No, 
yer  needn't  stay  —  go  an'  make  up  them  beds  in  the 
other  room.  I'll  watch  things  yere." 

He  munched  away  almost  savagely,  his  eyes  occasion 
ally  lifting  to  observe  me  from  beneath  their  shaggy 
brows,  his  muscular  jaws  fairly  crunching  the  food.  I 
judged  the  fellow  had  come  over  intending  to  resume 
our  interrupted  conversation,  but  hardly  knew  what  he 
had  best  venture,  I  decided  to  give  him  a  lead. 

"I  ain't  got  no  money,  myself,"  I  began  to  explain, 
apologetically,  "but  Tim  thar  sed  he'd  pay  my  bill." 

"Sure,  that's  all  right;  I  ain't  a  worryin'  none.  Maybe 
I  might  put  yer  in  an  easy  way  o'  gittin'  hold  o'  a  little 
coin  —  thet  is  if  ye  ain't  too  blame  perticular." 

"Me!"  I  laughed.  "Well,  I  reckon  I  don't  aim  fer 
ter  be  thet.  I've  bin  ten  years  knockin'  'bout  between 
New  Orleans  an'  Saint  Louee,  steamboatin'  mostly. 
Thet  sort  o'  thing  don't  make  no  saint  out'r  eny  kin'd 
man,  I  reckon.  What  sort'r  job  is  it?" 

250 


A  NEW  JOB  251 


He  eyed  me  cautiously,  as  though  not  altogether  de 
void  of  suspicion. 

"Yer  don't  somehow  look  just  the  same  sort  o'  chap, 
with  them  ther'  whiskers  shaved  off,"  he  acknowledged 
soberly.  "Yer  a  hell  sight  better  lookin'  then  I  thought 
yer  wus,  an'  a  damn  sight  younger.  Whar  wus  it  yer 
cum  frum?" 

"Frum  Saint  Louee,  on  the  boat,  if  thet's  what  yer 
drivin'  at." 

"'Tain't  what  I'm  drivin'  at.  Whar  else  did  yer  cum 
frum  afore  then?  Yer  ain't  got  no  bum's  face." 

"Oh,  I  see;  well,  I  can't  help  that,  kin  I  ?  I  wus  raised 
down  in  Mississip',  an'  run  away  when  I  wus  fourteen. 
I've  been  a  driftin'  'long  ever  since.  I  reckon  my  face 
ain't  goin'  ter  hurt  none  so  long  as  the  pay  is  right." 

"No,  I  reckon  maybe  it  won't.  I've  seed  sum  baby- 
faces  in  my  time  thet  sure  hed  the  devil  behind  'em. 
Whut's  yer  name?" 

"Moffett— Dan  Moffett" 

He  fell  silent,  and  I  was  unpleasantly  aware  of  his 
continued  scrutiny,  my  heart  beating  fiercely,  as  I  en 
deavored  to  force  down  more  of  the  food  as  an  excuse 
to  remain  at  the  table.  What  would  he  decide  ?  I  dared 
not  glance  up,  and  for  the  moment  every  hope  seemed  to 
die  within  me ;  shaving  had  evidently  been  a  most  serious 
mistake.  Finally  he  spoke  once  more,  but  gruffly  enough, 
leaning  forward,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Wai*  now  see  yere,  Moffett,  I'm  goin'  fer  ter  be  damn 
plain  with  yer.  I'm  a  plain  man  myself,  an'  don't  never 
beat  about  no  bush.  I  reckon  yer  whut  yer  say  ye  are,  fer 


252  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

thar  ain't  no  reason,  fer  as  I  kin  see,  why  we  should  lie 
'bout  it.  Yer  flat  broke,  an'  need  coin,  an'  I'm  takin' 
at  yer  own  word  —  thet  ye  don't  care  overly  much  how 
ye  git  it.  Thet  true?" 

"Just  'bout  —  so  it  ain't  no  hangin'  job." 

"Hell,  thar  ain't  really  no  manner  o'  risk  at  all.  Yer 
don't  even  hav'  ter  break  the  law  fer  as  I  know.  It's 
just  got  fer  ter  be  done  on  the  dead  quiet,  an'  no  question 
asked.  Now  look  yere,"  and  he  glared  at  me  fiercely, 
a  table  knife  gripped  in  one  hand.  "I'm  sum  wildcat 
whin  I  onct  git  riled,  an'  if  yer  play  any  dirt  I'll  sure  take 
it  out'r  yer  hide  if  I'm  ten  years  a  findin'  yer.  Yer  don't 
want'r  try  playin'  no  tricks  on  Jack  Rale." 

"Who's  a  playin'  any  tricks  ?"  I  protested,  indignantly. 
"Whatever  I  says  I'll  do,  an'  thar  won't  be  no  talkin' 
'bout  it  nether.  So  whut's  the  job?  This  yere  Kirby 
matter?" 

He  nodded  sullenly,  a  bit  regretful  that  he  had  gone 
so  far  I  imagined,  and  with  another  cautious  glance 
about  the  room. 

"I'll  tell  yer  all  ye  need  ter  know,"  he  began.  "Tain't 
such  a  long  story.  This  yere  Joe  Kirby  he's  a  frien'  o' 
mine;  I've  know'd  him  a  long  time,  an'  he's  in  a  hell  of 
a  fix.  He  told  me  'bout  it  comin'  up  on  the  boat,  an', 
betwixt  us,  we  sort'r  fixed  up  a  way  ter  stack  ther  cards. 
Here's  how  it  all  happened:  Thar  wus  an  ol'  planter 
livin'  down  in  Missoury  at  a  place  called  Beaucaire's 
Landin'.  His  name  wus  Beaucaire,  an'  he  hed  a  son 
named  Bert,  a  damn  good-fer-nuthing  cuss,  I  reckon. 
Wai'  this  Bert  runned  away  a  long  while  ago,  an'  never 
cum  back;  but  he  left  a  baby  behind  him  —  a  gurl  baby 


A  NEW  JOB  253 


—  which  a  quadroon  slave  give  birth  too.  The  quad 
roon's  name  wus  Delia,  an'  the  kid  wus  called  Rene.  Git 
them  names  in  yer  head.  Ol'  Beaucaire  he  knew  the 
gurl  wus  his  son's  baby,  so  he  brought  her  up  'long  with 
his  own  daughter,  who  wus  named  Eloise.  They  wus 
both  'bout  ther  same  age,  an'  nobody  seemed  ter  know 
thet  Rene  wus  a  nigger.  Per  sum  reason  ol'  Beaucaire 
never  set  her  free,  ner  the  quadroon  nether.  Wai'  Kirby 
he  heard  tell  o'  all  this  sumwhar  down  the  river.  Yer 
see  he  an'  Bert  Beaucaire  run  tergether  fer  a  while,  till 
Bert  got  killed  in  a  row  in  New  Orleans.  I  reckon  he 
tolj  him  part  o'  the  story,  an'  the  rest  he  picked  up  in  Saint 
Louee.  Enyhow  it  looked  like  a  damn  good  thing  ter 
Kirby,  who  ain't  passin'  up  many  bets.  Ol'  Beaucaire 
wus  rich,  an'  considerable  ov  a  spcrt;  people  who  hed 
seed  the  gurls  sed  they  wus  both  ov  'em  beauties  an' 
Eloise  —  the  white  one  —  hed  an  independent  fortune 
left  her  through  her  mother.  So  Kirby,  he  an'  a  feller 
named  Carver — a  tin-horn — -planned  it  out  betwixt 
'em  ter  copper  ol'  Beaucaire's  coin,  an'  pick  up  them 
gurls  along  with  it/' 

"But  how  cud  they  do  thet?" 

"Luck  mostly,  I  reckon,  an'  Kirby 's  brains.  The  plan 
wus  ter  git  Beaucaire  inter  a  poker  game,  ease  him  'long 
a  bit,  an'  then  break  him,  land,  niggers,  an'  all.  They 
didn't  figure  this  wud  be  hard,  fer  he  wus  a  dead  game 
gambler,  an'  played  fer  big  stakes.  It  wus  luck  though 
what  giv'  'em  their  chance.  Beaucaire  hed  sum  minin' 
claims  up  on  the  Fevre,  an'  hed  ter  go  up  thar.  It's  a 
long,  lonesom'  trip,  I  reckon,  an'  so  the  other  two  they 
went  'long.  They  got  the  ol'  chap  goin'  an  comin1,  an' 


254  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

finally  coddled  him  'long  till  he  put  up  his  big  bet  on  a 
sure  hand.  When  he  found  out  whut  hed  happened  the 
or  gent  got  so  excited  he  flung  a  fit,  an'  died." 
"Leavin'  Kirby  ownin'  all  the  property?" 
"Every  picayune,  niggers  an'  all.  It  wus  sum  sweep, 
an'  he  hed  signed  bills  o'  sale.  Wa'n't  nobody  cud  git  it 
away  frum  him.  Wai',  Joe  he  didn't  want  fer  ter  make 
no  fuss,  ner  scare  the  gurl  none,  so  he  went  down  ter 
Saint  Louee  an'  made  proof  o'  ownership  afore  a  jedge 
he  know'd.  Then,  with  the  papers  all  straight,  he,  an' 
the  sheriff,  with  Tim  yere,  the  deputy,  run  up  the  river 
at  night  ter  serve  'em  quietly  on  the  daughter  —  the  white 
one,  Eloise.  Kirby  he  didn't  aim  ter  be  seen  at  all,  but 
just  went  'long  so  thar  wudn't  be  no  mistake.  Yer  see, 
them  papers  hed  ter  be  served  afore  they  cud  take  away 
the  niggers.  Kirby  wus  goin'  ter  sell  them  down  river, 
an'  not  bother  'bout  the  land  fer  awhile,  till  after  he'd 
hed  a  chance  ter  shine  up  ter  this  yere  gurl  Eloise.  He'd 
never  seen  her  —  but,  enyhow,  he  got  thet  notion  in  his 
hed." 

"She  wus  the  daughter;  the  white  one?" 
"Sure ;  he  hed  the  other  by  law.    Wai',  when  they  all 
got  thar,  nobody  wus  home,  'cept  one  o'  the  gurls,  who 
claimed  fer  ter  be  Rene  —  the  one  whut  wus  a  nigger, 
thet  Kirby  owned.     Nobody  know'd  which  wus  which, 
an'  so  they  hed  ter  take  her  word  for  it.     They  cudn't 
do  nuthin'  legal  till  they  found  the  other  one,  an'  they 
wus  sittin'  round  waitin'  fer  her  ter  turn  up,  when  the 
nigger  gurl  they  wus  watchin'  got  away." 
"How'dshedothet?" 
"Don't  noboddy  seem  ter  know.     Damn  funny  story. 


A  NEW  JOB  255 


Way  they  tell  it,  sumbody  must'r  knocked  Kirby  down 
an'  run  off  with  her.  Whoever  did  it,  stole  the  boat  in 
which  Kirby  an'  the  sheriff  cum  up  the  river,  an'  just 
naturally  skipped  out  —  the  sheriff's  nigger  an'  all.  It 
wus  a  slick  job." 

"Of  course,  they  chased  them?" 

"Best  they  cud,  not  knowin'  which  way  they'd  gone. 
They  reckoned  the  whol'  bunch  must'r  got  away  ter- 
gether,  so  the  sheriff  he  started  fer  Saint  Louee,  an' 
the  others  got  onto  a  troop  boat  what  happened  ter  cum 
'long,  and  started  north.  Long  'bout  the  mouth  ov  the 
Illinoy  they  caught  up  with  a  nigger-stealer  named 
Shrunk.  They  hed  a  fight  in  an'  about  his  cabin,  an'  sum 
killin'.  Two  ov  the  womin  got  away,  but  Kirby  an'  Tim 
got  hold  o'  this  gurl  what  hed  claimed  ter  be  Rene,  an' 
a  mulatto  cook  who  wus  a  workin'  fer  Shrunk.  I  reckon 
maybe  yer  know  the  rest." 

"I  know  they  wus  run  down  by  the  Adventurer,  an' 
hauled  aboard.  But  how  did  Kirby  learn  his  prisoner 
wus  white  ?  Did  she  tell  him  ?" 

"I  should  say  not.  It  wus  the  mulatto  cook  who  told 
him,  although,  I  reckon,  he  hed  his  doubts  afore  thet.  I 
knew  she  wusn't  no  nigger  the  furst  minute  I  got  eyes 
on  her  —  they  can't  fool  me  none  on  niggers;  I  wus 
raised  'mong  'em.  But  so  fur's  the  gurl's  concerned,  she 
don't  know  yet  thet  Kirby's  found  out."  He  emitted  a 
weak  laugh.  "It  sorter  skeered  Joe  ter  be  caught  way 
up  yere  in  this  kintry,  kidnapin'  a  white  gurl.  He  didn't 
know  whut  the  hell  ter  do,  till  I  give  him  a  p'inter." 

"You  were  the  one  who  suggested  marriage?" 

"Wai',  I  sed  she  cudn't  do  nuthin'  'gainst  him  onct 


256  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

he  wus  married  to  her.  I  thought  o'  thet  right  away. 
Yer  see  this  wus  how  it  happened :  Kirby  sed  he'd  like 
f er  ter  marry  her,  an'  I  sez,  'why  not  then  ?  Thar's  an  ol' 
bum  ov  a  preacher  yere  at  Yellow  Banks,  a  sorter  hanger- 
on  ter  one  o'  them  militia  companies,  what'll  do  eny  damn 
thing  I  tell  him  too.  I  got  the  goods  on  him,  an'  he 
knows  it.' 

'  'But  she  wouldn't  marry  me,'  he  says,   'yer  don't 
know  thet  gurl.' 

"  'Don't  I,'  I  asked  sarcastic.  'Wai',  thar  ain't  no  gurl 
ever  I  see  yet  thet  won't  marry  a  man  if  the  right  means 
are  used.  How  kin  she  help  herself?  Yer  leave  it  ter 
me/  " 

"And  he  consented?" 

"He  wus  damn  glad  to,  after  I  told  him  how  it  cud  be 
done.  But  Tim  he  wudn't  go  in  with  us,  an'  thet's  v  hy 
we  got  ter  hav'  anuther  man.  Come  on  over  ter  the  bar 
an'  hav'  a  drink,  Moffett;  them  other  fellers  are  goin' 
ter  eat  now." 

The  diversion  gave  me  opportunity  for  a  moment's 
thought.  The  plan  was  a  diabolical  one,  cold-blooded 
and  desperate,  yet  I  saw  no  certain  way  of  serving  her, 
except  by  accepting  Rale's  offer.  I  had  no  satisfactory 
proof  to  present  against  these  villains,  and,  even  if  I  had, 
by  the  time  I  succeeded  in  locating  headquarters  and 
establishing  my  own  identity,  the  foul  trick  might  be 
executed  without  my  aid,  and  the  injured  girl  spirited 
away  beyond  reach.  I  did  not  even  know  where  she 
was  concealed,  or  how  I  could  lay  hands  on  Kirby.  The 
genial  Rale  pushed  out  a  black  bottle  and  we  drank 
together. 


A  NEW  JOB  257 


"Wai*,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  conversation  where  it 
had  ended,  quite  satisfied  with  his  diplomacy,  and  wiping 
his  lips  on  his  sleeve.  "What  ye  say,  Moffett?  Thar's 
a  hundred  dollars  in  this  job." 

"Whar  is  the  gurl?" 

"Oh,  I  reckon  she  ain't  fur  away;  we  kin  find  her  all 
right.  I  got  ter  know  'bout  yer  furst.  Are  yer  game  ?" 

"I'm  game  'nough,  Jack,"  assuming  a  familiarity  I 
thought  he  would  appreciate.  "Only  I  don't  want'r  jump 
inter  this  yere  thing  without  knowin'  nuthin'  'bout  it. 
What  is  it  yer  got  lined  up  fer  me  ter  do  ?" 

He  helped  himself  to  yet  another  liberal  drink,  and  I 
was  glad  to  note  that  the  fiery  liquor  was  already  begin 
ning  to  have  its  effect,  increasing  his  recklessness  of 
speech. 

"All  right,  Dan;  have  another  one  on  me  —  no?  Wai', 
hell ;  I  'spose  I  might  as  wal'  tell  ye  furst  as  last.  Thar 
ain't  nuthin'  fer  eny  o'  us  ter  git  skeered  about.  We  got 
it  all  planned.  I  sorter  picked  yer  out  'cause  thar  ain't 
noboddy  knows  yer  in  camp  here — see?  If  yer  dis 
appear  thar  won't  noboddy  gtve  a  damn.  An'  thar  ain't 
scarcely  noboddy  what  knows  the  gurl  is  yere  nether  — 
only  maybe  a  few  soldiers,  who  thinks  she's  a  nigger. 
We  don't  want  this  affair  talked  about  none,  do  we?  I 
reckon  not.  So  we  planned  it  out  this  way:  Thar's  a 
frien'  o'  mine  got  a  shack  down  on  Bear  Crick,  'bout 
twenty  mile  below  yere.  He  sells  red-eye  ter  barge  an' 
keel-boatmen,  what  tie  up  thar  nights.  Wal',  he's  all 
right  —  a  hell  o'  a  good  feller.  What  we  aim  ter  do  is 
run  the  gurl  down  thar  ternight,  unbekno'nst  ter  enybody. 
I  reckon  yer  kin  ride  a  hossl" 


258  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Yes;sothet'smyjob?" 

"Thet's  the  whole  o'  it.  Yer  just  got  ter  stay  thar  with 
her  till  Kirby  kin  git  away,  without  noboddy  thinkin' 
enything  'bout  it.  It's  damn  easy  money  ter  my  notion." 

I  thought  swiftly.  There  were  several  questions  I 
wanted  to  ask,  but  dare  not.  It  was  better  to  trust  to 
luck,  for  I  must  lull,  not  arouse  suspicion.  Thus  far  the 
affair  had  played  wonderfully  into  my  hands;  if  I  could 
maintain  my  part  to  the  end,  there  ought  to  be  no  reason 
why  the  girl  should  not  be  saved  uninjured.  The  one 
thing  which  I  had  feared  no  longer  threatened  —  I  was 
not  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  Kirby.  If  we  en 
countered  each  other  at  all,  it  would  be  in  darkness,  where 
there  was  only  slight  probability  of  recognition.  The 
impatience  in  Rale's  face  drove  me  to  declare  myself. 

"Why,  if  that's  all  I  got  ter  do  fer  a  hundred  dollars," 
I  said  gaily,  "I'm  yer  man,  Jack.  An'  how  soon  will 
Kirby  be  comin'  down  ter  this  yer  place  on  Bear  Crick?" 

"In  a  day  er  two,  I  reckon.  Soon's  thar's  sum  boat 
headin'  down  river.  Yer  see,  this  yer's  all  camp;  thar 
ain't  no  fit  place  whar  we  kin  hide  the  gurl,  an'  make  her 
keep  her  mouth  shet.  Them  blamed  soldiers  are  a 
moosin'  'bout  every  whar,  an'  if  she  onct  got  talking  our 
goose  wud  be  cooked.  Furst  thing  we  got  ter  do  is  git 
her  outer  this  camp." 

"Ternight,  yer  sed?" 

"'Bout  midnight;  yer '11  go* — hey?" 

"I  reckon;  yer  got  the  money?" 

With  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  two  men  eating,  he 
counted  out  some  gold  pieces  on  the  bar  and  shoved  them 
over  to  me,  keeping  them  under  cover  of  his  hand. 


A  NEW  JOB  259 


"Thar's  half  o'  it,  an'  the  rest  is  yers  when  ye  bring 
back  the  hosses." 

"How  many  hosses?    Who's  a  goin'?" 

"Three  o'  yer.  Kirby's  fer  sendin'  the  mulatter  gurl 
"long.  She's  a  free  nigger  an'  might  let  her  tongue  wag. 
Now  listen,  Moffett,  I'm  a  goin'  out  putty  soon  ter  git 
things  ready,  an'  I'll  leave  Sal  yere  ter  tend  bar.  Now 
git  this ;  thar's  a  right  smart  trail  back  o'  the  cabin,  leadin' 
straight  down  ter  the  crick,  with  a  spring  'bout  half  way. 
Thar  ain't  no  guard  down  thar,  an'  ye  can't  miss  it,  even 
en  the  dark.  The  hosses  will  be  thar  et  midnight  waitin' 
fer  yer.  All  ye  got  ter  do  is  just  put  them  two  gurls  on 
an'  ride  away.  Yer  don't  never  need  ter  speak  ter  'em. 
Yer  understand?  All  right,  then;  hav'  anuther  drink." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"But  how'm  I  goin'  ter  git  ter  this  place  —  whatever 
it's  called?" 

"Thar  ain't  no  trouble  'bout  thet ;  all  yer  got  ter  do  is 
ride  straight  south  till  yer  cum  ter  the  crick,  an'  yer  thar. 
It's  Jenkins'  Crossing  yer  after." 

"I  reckon  thar  ain't  eny  Injuns,  er  nuthin'?" 

"Hell,  no ;  they're  all  t'other  direction ;  nuthin'  worse'n 
wolves.  Say,  though,  yer  might  have  trouble  with  them 
gurls  —  got  a  gun?" 

"No." 

He  reached  back  into  a  small  drawer  under  the  shelf, 
and  brought  out  an  ugly-looking  weapon,  tried  the  ham 
mer  movement  with  his  thumb,  and  handed  it  over  to 
me  with  a  grin. 

"Some  cannon,  an'  I  want  it  back.  Don't  fail  at  mid 
night." 


260 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"An'  thar  ain't  nuthin'  f er  me  ter  do  till  then  ?" 

"Not  a  thing;  take  a  nap,  if  ye  want'r.  Sal  kin  wake 
ye  up.  I  reckon  I  won't  be  back  till  after  yer  off." 

I  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  leaned  back  against  the  wall, 
tilting  my  hat  down  over  my  eyes  and  pretending  to  fall 
asleep.  Through  half-closed  lids  I  managed  to  see  all 
that  transpired  in  the  room,  and  my  mind  was  busy  with 
the  approaching  crisis.  Had  Rale  revealed  all  the  details 
of  their  plan  to  me,  I  wondered.  It  seemed  comprehen 
sive  enough,  and  yet  it  hardly  appeared  possible  that  they 
would  thoughtlessly  place  in  the  hands  of  any  stranger 
such  an  advantage.  It  would  only  be  natural  for  them 
to  withhold  something — merely  trusting  me  with  what 
I  actually  had  to  know.  Yet  crime  was  forever  making 
just  such  mistakes;  these  men  had  to  place  confidence  in 
someone,  and,  after  all,  it  was  not  so  strange  that  the 
saloon  keeper  had  selected  me.  I  had  come  to  him  a  pen 
niless  river  bum,  representing  a  class  he  had  dealt  with  all 
his  life.  I  had  played  the  part  well,  and  he  had  found  no 
reason  to  suspect  me.  Moreover  the  course  they  were 
pursuing  appeared  perfectly  natural  —  the  only  means 
of  carrying  out  their  scheme,  with  the  least  possible 
chance  for  discovery. 

Rale  busied  himself  for  some  minutes  before  putting 
on  his  hat,  counting  over  some  money,  and  filling  his 
bottles  from  a  reserve  stock  underneath  the  shelf.  The 
two  men  completed  their  meal  and  resumed  their  card 
game,  while  Sal  hastily  washed  up  the  few  dishes  and 
tucked  them  away  in  a  rude  cupboard  beside  the  fireplace. 
Tim  slept  peacefully  on,  but  had  slightly  changed  his 
posture,  so  that  his  face  was  now  upturned  to  the  light 


A  NEW  JOB  261 


The  sight  of  his  familiar  features  gave  me  an  inspiration. 
He  was,  undoubtedly,  an  honest  fellow,  and  had  quar 
reled  with  Kirby  over  this  very  matter,  refusing  to  have 
any  hand  in  it.  He  had  supposed  up  to  that  time  that  he 
was  doing  no  more  than  his  duty  under  the  law.  If  I 
could  arouse  him  from  drunken  stupor,  he  might  even  be 
willing  to  work  with  me  in  the  attempt  to  rescue  Eloise. 
Rale  disappeared  through  the  rear  door,  after  exchanging 
a  few  words  with  the  woman,  and  did  not  return.  I 
waited  motionless  for  some  time,  fearful  lest  he  might 
come  back.  Suddenly  the  front  door  opened  noiselessly, 
and  Kirby  entered,  advancing  straight  toward  the  bar.  Sal 
served  him,  answering  his  questions,  which  were  spoken 
so  low  I  could  not  catch  the  words.  His  eyes  swept  the 
room,  but  the  hat  concealed  my  face,  and  he  only  recog 
nized  Tim.  He  paused  long  enough  to  bend  above  the 
upturned  features  of  the  unconscious  deputy,  not  un- 
pleased,  evidently,  to  discover  him  in  that  condition. 

"The  damned  old  fool,"  he  muttered,  perhaps  not  aware 
that  he  spoke  aloud.    "Rale  has  got  him  fixed,  all  right." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

KIRBY  AND  I  MEET 

AL  remained  seated  behind  the  bar,  nodding,  and,  so 
soon  as  I  felt  reasonably  assured  that  she  was  with 
out  interest  in  my  movements,  I  leaned  forward  and 
endeavored  to  arouse  Kennedy.  This  was  by  no  means 
easy  of  accomplishment,  and  I  was  compelled  to  pinch  the 
fellow  rather  severely  before  he  sat  up  angrily,  blurting 
out  the  first  words  which  came  to  his  lips : 

"What  the  devil—" 

His  half-opened  eyes  caught  my  gesture  for  silence, 
and  he  stopped  instantly,  his  lips  widely  parted. 

"Meet  me  outside,"  I  whispered,  warningly.  "But  be 
careful  about  it." 

The  slight  noise  had  failed  to  disturb  the  woman, 
and  I  succeeded  in  slipping  through  the  unlatched  door 
without  noting  any  change  in  her  posture.  Tim,  now 
thoroughly  awake,  and  aware  of  something  serious  in 
the  air,  was  not  long  in  joining  me  without,  and  I  drew 
him  aside  into  a  spot  of  deeper  blackness  under  the  trees. 
He  was  still  indignant  over  the  pinching,  and  remained 
drunk  enough  to  be  quarrelsome.  I  cut  his  muffled  pro 
fanity  short. 

"That's  quite  enough  of  that,  Tim,"  I  said  sharply,  and 
was  aware  that  he  stared  back  at  me,  plainly  perplexed  by 
the  change  in  my  tone  and  manner.  "You  are  an  officer 
of  the  law ;  so  am  I,  and  it  is  about  time  we  were  working 
together." 

262 


KIRBY  AND  I  MEET  263 

He  managed  to  release  a  gruff  laugh. 

"You  —  you  damn  bum;  hell,  that's  a  good  joke  — 
what'r  yer  givin'  me  now?" 

"The  exact  truth ;  and  it  will  be  worth  your  while,  my 
man,  to  brace  up  and  listen.  I  am  going  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  redeem  yourself  —  a  last  chance.  It  will  be  a 
nice  story  to  tell  back  in  St.  Louis  that  you  helped  to 
kidnap  a  wealthy  young  white  woman,  using  your  office 
as  a  cloak  for  the  crime,  and,  besides  that,  killing  two 
men  to  serve  a  river  gambler.  Suppose  I  was  to  tell  that 
sort  of  tale  to  Governor  Clark,  and  give  him  the  proofs  — 
where  would  you  land?" 

He  breathed  hard,  scarcely  able  to  articulate,  but 
decidedly  sober. 

"What  —  what's  that?  Ain't  you  the  fellar  thet  wus 
on  the  boat ?  Who  —  who  the  devil  are  yer?" 

"I  am  an  officer  in  the  army,"  I  said  gravely,  deter 
mined  to  impress  him  first  of  all,  "and  I  worked  on  that 
steamer  merely  to  learn  the  facts  in  this  case.  I  know 
the  whole  truth  now,  even  to  your  late  quarrel  with  Kirby. 
I  do  not  believe  you  realized  before  what  you  were  doing 
—  but  you  do  now.  You  are  guilty  of  assisting  that 
contemptible  gambler  to  abduct  Eloise  Beaucaire,  and  are 
shielding  him  now  in  his  cowardly  scheme  to  compel  her  to 
marry  him  by  threat  and  force." 

"The  damn,  low-lived  pup — I  told  him  whut  he  wus." 

"Yes,  but  that  doesn't  prevent  the  crime.  He's  all  you 
said,  and  more.  But  calling  the  man  names  isn't  going 
to  frighten  him,  nor  get  that  girl  out  of  his  clutches. 
Wrhat  I  want  to  know  is,  are  you  ready  to  help  me  fight 
the  fellow?  block  his  game?" 


264  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"How  ?    What  do  ye  want  done  ?" 
"Give  me  a  pledge  first,  and  I'll  tell  you." 
He  took  a  long  moment  to  decide,  not  yet  wholly  satis 
fied  as  to  my  identity. 

"Did  ye  say  ye  wus  an  army  offercer?" 
"Yes,  a  lieutenant;  my  name  is  Knox." 
"I  never  know'd  yer." 

"Probably  not,  but  Joe  Kirby  does.  I  was  on  the 
steamer  Warrior  coming  down  when  he  robbed  old  Judge 
Beaucaire.  That  was  what  got  me  mixed  up  in  this  affair. 
Later  I  was  in  that  skiff  you  fellows  rammed  and  sunk 
on  the  Illinois.  I  know  the  whole  dirty  story,  Kennedy, 
from  the  very  beginning.  And  now  it  is  up  to  you 
whether  or  not  I  tell  it  to  Governor  Clark." 

"  I  reckon  yer  must  be  right,"  he  admitted  helplessly. 
"Only  I  quit  cold  the  minute  I  caught  on  ter  whut  wus 
up.  I  never  know'd  she  wa'n't  no  nigger  till  after  we  got 
yere.  Sure's  yer  live  that's  true.  Only  then  I  didn't 
know  whut  else  ter  do,  so  I  got  bilin'  drunk." 
"You  are  willing  to  work  with  me,  then?" 
"Yer  kin  bet  I  am ;  I  ain't  no  gurl-stealer." 
"Then  listen,  Kennedy.  Jack  Rale  told  me  exactly 
what  their  plans  were,  because  he  needed  me  to  help  him. 
When  you  jumped  the  reservation,  he  had  to  find  some 
one  else,  and  picked  me.  The  first  thing  he  did,  however, 
was  to  get  you  drunk,  so  you  wouldn't  interfere.  That 
was  part  of  their  game,  and  Kirby  came  into  the  saloon 
a  few  minutes  ago  to  see  how  it  worked.  He  stood  there 
and  laughed  at  you,  lying  asleep.  They  mean  to  pull  off 
the  affair  tonight.  Here's  the  story." 

I  told  it  to  him,  exactly  in  the  form  it  had  come  to  me, 


KIRDY  AND  I  MEET  265 

interrupted  only  in  the  recital  by  an  occasional  profane 
ejaculation,  or  some  interjected  question.  The  deputy 
appeared  sober  enough  before  I  had  finished,  and  fully 
grasped  the  seriousness  of  the  situation. 

"Now  that  is  the  way  it  stacks  up,"  I  ended.  "The  girl 
is  to  be  taken  to  this  fellow's  shack  and  compelled  to 
marry  Kirby,  whether  she  wants  to  or  not.  They  will 
have  her  where  she  cannot  help  herself  —  away  from 
anyone  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Rale  wouldn't  explain 
what  means  were  to  be  used  to  make  her  consent,  and  I 
didn't  dare  press  him  for  fear  he  might  suspect  me.  They 
either  intend  threatening  her,  or  else  to  actually  resort 
to  force  —  likely  both.  No  doubt  they  can  rely  on  this 
renegade  preacher  in  either  case." 

"Jack  didn't  name  no  name?" 

"No  — why?" 

"Only  thar  uster  be  a  bum  hangin'  round  the  river 
front  in  Saint  Louee  who  hed  preacher's  papers,  en  wore 
a  long-tailed  coat.  Thar  wan't  no  low-down  game  he 
wudn't  take  a  hand  in  fer  a  drink.  His  name  wus 
Gaskins ;  I  hed  him  up  fer  mayhem  onct.  I'll  bet  he's  the 
duck,  for  he  hung  round  Jack's  place  most  o'  the  time. 
Whatcha  want  me  ter  do?" 

"It  has  seemed  to  me,  Tim,"  I  said,  thoughtfully,  "that 
the  best  action  for  us  to  take  will  be  to  let  them  place  the 
girl  in  my  hands,  just  as  they  have  planned  to  do.  That 
will  throw  them  entirely  off  their  guard.  As  things  stand, 
I  have  no  knowledge  where  she  is  concealed,  or  where  to 
hunt  for  her;  but  it  is  evident  she  is  in  no  immediate 
danger.  They  don't  dare  to  force  action  here,  in  this 
camp.  Once  we  succeed  in  getting  her  safely  away,  and 


266  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

remain  unknown  ourselves,  there  ought  to  be  very  little 
trouble  in  straightening  out  the  whole  matter.  My  plan 
would  be  to  either  ride  around  the  camp  in  the  night,  and 
then  report  the  whole  affair  at  headquarters,  or  else  to 
strike  out  direct  for  Fort  Armstrong  across  country.  The 
Indians  will  all  be  cleaned  out  north  of  here,  and  they 
know  me  at  Armstrong.  Do  you  know  any  place  you 
can  pick  up  a  horse?" 

"Thar's  a  slew  ov  'em  round  yere,"  he  admitted. 
"These  fellers  are  most  all  hoss-soldiers.  I  reckon  I  cud 
cinch  sum  sort  o'  critter.  Yer  want  me  a1ong?" 

"Perhaps  not,  Tim.  Your  disappearance  might  cause 
suspicion,  and  send  them  after  us.  My  plan  is  to  get 
away  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  let  them  believe  everything 
is  all  right.  I  want  a  day  or  two  in  which  to  work,  before 
Rale  or  Kirby  discover  we  have  not  gone  to  Bear  Creek. 
I'll  meet  them  alone  at  the  spring  down  the  trail,  but  shall 
want  you  somewhere  near  by.  You  see  this  is  bound  to 
mean  a  fight  if  I  am  recognized  —  likely  three  against  one ; 
and  those  men  wouldn't  hesitate  at  murder." 

"I  reckon  not,  an'  it  wudn't  be  their  furst  one  nuther. 
Looks  ter  me  like  yer  wus  takin'  a  big  chance.  I'll  be 
thar,  though ;  yer  kin  bet  on  thet,  an'  ready  fer  a  fight,  er 
a  foot  race.  This  is  how  I  size  it  up — if  thar  ain't  no 
row,  I'm  just  ter  keep  still,  an'  lie  low;  an'  if  a  fracas 
starts  I'm  ter  jump  in  fer  all  I'm  worth.  Is  thet  the 
program?" 

"Exactly  — that's  my  idea." 

"Wai'  then,  I'm  a  prayin'  it  starts;  I  want  just  one 
crack  et  thet  Kirby,  the  ornary  cuss." 

We  talked  the  whole  matter  over  in  detail,  having  noth- 


KIRBY  AND  I  MEET  267 

ing  better  to  do,  and  endeavoring  to  arrange  for  every 
probability,  yet  did  not  remain  together  for  long.  With 
my  eyes  to  a  chink  between  the  logs  I  got  a  view  of  the 
interior  of  the  cabin.  The  two  card  players  had  disap 
peared,  and  I  imagined  they  were  rolled  up  in  blankets  in 
one  corner  of  the  room.  Sal  was  alone,  seated  on  a  stool, 
her  head  hanging  forward,  sound  asleep.  Evidently  she 
had  received  no  orders  from  Rale  to  keep  watch  over  the 
movements  of  either  of  us,  and  was  not  worried  on 
account  of  our  absence.  In  all  probability  the  saloon 
keeper  believed  the  deputy  was  drunk  enough  to  remain 
in  stupor  all  night,  and  he  considered  my  services  as 
bought  and  paid  for.  He  had  traded  with  derelicts  of  my 
apparent  kind  before. 

I  felt  nervous,  anxious,  eager  for  action.  The  time 
dragged  horribly.  If  I  could  only  be  accomplishing  some 
thing;  or  if  I  knew  what  was  occurring  elsewhere.  What 
if  something  unforeseen  should  occur  to  change  Rale's 
plan?  Suppose,  for  instance,  those  fellows  should  decide 
to  force  the  marriage  tonight,  instead  of  waiting  until 
after  arrival  at  Jenkins'  Crossing?  Suppose  she  resisted 
them,  and  was  injured?  A  suspicion  came  to  me  that  I 
might  have  misunderstood  all  this.  My  God !  if  I  only 
knew  where  it  was  they  had  concealed  the  girl. 

The  two  of  us  explored  about  the  silent  cabin,  but  dis 
covered  nothing.  There  was  no  light  visible  in  the  rear 
room,  nor  any  sound  of  movement  within.  The  two  win 
dows  were  closed,  and  the  door  locked.  We  found  a  con 
venient  stump  in  the  woods,  and  sat  down  to  wait,  where 
we  could  see  all  that  occurred  about  the  cabin.  The  dis 
tant  camp  fires  had  died  down,  and  only  occasionally  did 


268  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

any  sound,  generally  far  away,  disturb  the  silence.  The 
night  was  fairly  dark,  the  stars  shining  brightly  enough, 
but  dense  beneath  the  trees ;  yet  we  managed  to  locate  the 
nearer  sentries  by  their  voices  when  they  reported  posts. 
None  were  stationed  close  by.  Everything  indicated  that 
we  were  safely  outside  the  lines  of  camp.  We  conversed 
in  whispers,  until  Tim,  still  influenced  by  his  excessive 
drinking,  became  sleepy,  and  slid  off  the  stump  onto  the 
ground,  where  he  curled  up  on  a  pile  of  leaves.  I  let  him 
lie  undisturbed,  and  continued  my  vigil  alone,  feeling  no 
inclination  to  sleep,  every  nerve  throbbing  almost  pain 
fully.  Three  or  four  men  straggled  into  the  saloon  while 
I  sat  there,  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  camp,  and 
were  doubtless  waited  upon  by  Sal.  None  remained  long 
within,  and  all  I  saw  of  them  were  indistinct  figures  re 
vealed  for  a  moment,  as  the  light  streamed  out  through 
the  opened  door.  One  seemed  to  be  an  officer,  wrapped 
in  a  cavalry  cloak  —  hunting  after  men  out  of  bounds, 
possibly  —  but,  later  than  eleven  o'clock,  there  were  no 
more  callers.  Soon  after  that  hour  the  light  within  was 
turned  low. 

All  the  while  I  remained  there,  motionless,  intently 
watchful  for  every  movement  about  me,  with  Tim  peace 
fully  asleep  on  the  leaves,  my  thought  was  with  Eloise 
Beaucaire,  and  my  mind  torn  with  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  my  choice.  Had  I  determined  on  the  right  course? 
Was  there  nothing  else  I  could  do  ?  Was  it  best  for  me 
to  thus  rely  on  my  own  efforts?  or  should  I  have  sought 
the  assistance  of  others?  Yet  where  could  I  turn?  How 
could  I  gain  in  time  such  assistance?  I  realized  in  those 
moments  that  selfishness,  love,  personal  desire,  had  very 


KIRBY  AND  I  MEET 269 

largely  influenced  me  in  my  decision ;  I  was  eager  to  rescue 
her  alone,  by  my  own  efforts,  unaided.  I  had  to  confess 
this  to  be  my  secret  purpose.  I  could  dream  of  nothing 
else,  and  was  actually  unwilling  to  share  this  privilege  with 
any  other.  I  felt  she  belonged  to  me ;  determined  she  should 
belong  to  me.  From  that  instant  when  I  became  convinced 
that  she  was  of  white  blood — that  no  hideous  barrier  of 
race,  no  stain  of  dishonor,  held  us  apart  —  she  had  become 
my  one  ambition.  I  not  only  knew  that  I  loved  her ;  but 
I  believed  almost  as  strongly  that  she  loved  me.  Every 
glance  of  her  eyes,  each  word  she  had  spoken,  remained 
indelibly  in  my  memory.  And  beyond  doubt  she  thought 
me  dead.  Kirby  would  have  told  her  that  both  men  in 
the  wrecked  boat  went  down.  It  would  be  to  his  advan 
tage  to  impress  this  on  her  mind,  so  as  thus  to  emphasize 
her  helplessness,  and  cause  her  to  realize  that  no  one  knew 
of  her  predicament.  What  an  awakening  it  would  be 
when  she  again  recognized  me  as  actually  alive,  and  beside 
her.  Surely  in  that  moment  I  should  read  the  whole 
truth  in  those  wonderful  eyes,  and  reap  my  reward  in 
her  first  impulse  of  gratitude.  It  was  not  in  nature  to 
share  such  a  moment  with  another ;  I  wanted  it  for  myself, 
alone. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  before  even  the  slightest  sound 
near  at  hand  indicated  the  approach  of  others.  I  was 
already  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  imagining  something 
might  have  gone  wrong,  when  the  dull  scuffling  of  horses* 
hoofs  being  led  cautiously  up  the  trail  to  my  right,  broke 
the  intense  silence.  I  listened  to  assure  myself,  then  shook 
Tim  into  wakefulness,  leaving  him  still  blinking  in  the 
shadow  of  the  stump,  while  I  advanced  in  the  direction 


270  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

of  the  spring.  Suddenly  the  darker  shape  of  the  slowly 
moving  animals  loomed  up  through  the  gloom,  and  came 
to  a  halt  directly  in  front  of  me.  I  saw  nothing  of  Rale 
until  he  spoke. 

"Thatyer,  Moffett?" 

"Yes;  whar's  yer  party?" 

I  caught  view  of  his  dim  outlines,  as  he  stepped  slightly 
forward,  reassured  by  my  voice. 

"They'll  be  yere;  thar's  a  bit  o'  time  ter  spare  yit. 
I  aimed  not  ter  keep  'em  waitin'.  Here,  this  is  yer  hoss, 
an'  yere's  the  leadin'  strap  fer  the  others.  Better  tie  it 
ter  yer  pommel,  I  reckon,  so's  ter  leave  both  yer  hands 
free  —  yer  might  hav'  need  fer  'em.  We'll  tend  ter 
mountin'  the  gurls,  an'  then  all  ye'll  hav'  ter  do  will  be  ter 
lead  off.  Thar  won't  be  no  talkin'  done  yere.  Better 
walk  the  hosses  till  yer  git  crost  the  crick,  so  the  sojers 
won't  hear  yer.  Got  that?" 

"I  reckon  I  hav',  an'  sense  'nough  ter  know  it  without 
bein'  told.  Did  yer  think  I  wanted  ter  be  catched  on  this 
job?" 

"All  right,  but  thar's  no  harm  a  tellin'  yer.  Don't  be 
so  damn  touchy.  Eneyboddy  in  the  shack?" 

"No ;  only  the  woman,  asleep  on  a  stool." 

"Whar's  Tim  gone  to?" 

"I  reckon  he  don't  even  know  hisself ;  he's  sure  sum 
drunk." 

Rale  chuckled,  patting  the  side  of  the  horse  next  him. 

"Whole  caboodle  workin'  like  a  charm,"  he  said,  good 
humoredly.  "Thought  onct  the  deputy  might  show  up 
ugly,  but  a  quart  o'  red-eye  sure  fixed  him  —  thar's  our 
party  a  comin'  now.  Ye're  ter  stay  right  w7har  ye  are." 


KIRBY  AND  I  MEET  271 

They  were  advancing  toward  us  up  the  bank  which 
sloped  down  toward  the  creek.  It  occurred  to  me  they 
must  be  following  some  well-worn  path,  from  the  silence 
of  their  approach  —  the  only  sound  being  a  faint  rustling 
of  dead  leaves.  Rale  moved  forward  to  meet  them  across 
the  little  open  space,  and  a  moment  later,  from  my  hiding 
place  among  the  motionless  horses,  I  became  able  to  dis 
tinguish  the  slowly  approaching  figures.  There  were  four 
in  the  party,  apparently  from  their  garb  two  men  and 
two  women.  The  second  man  might  be  the  preacher,  but 
if  so,  why  should  he  be  there?  Why  should  his  presence 
at  this  time  be  necessary?  Unless  the  two  main  con 
spirators  had  special  need  for  his  services,  I  could  conceive 
no  reason  for  his  having  any  part  in  the  action  that  night. 
Had  I  been  deceived  in  their  plans?  The  horror  of  the 
dawning  conception  that  possibly  I  had  waited  too  long, 
and  that  the  deed  I  sought  to  prevent  had  already  been 
consummated,  left  me  trembling  like  an  aspen.  Even  as 
this  fear  overwhelmed  me  with  consternation,  I  was  com 
pelled  to  notice  how  helplessly  the  first  of  the  two  women 
walked  —  as  though  her  limbs  refused  to  support  her  body, 
even  though  apparently  upheld  by  the  grip  of  the  man 
beside  her.  Rale,  joining  them,  immediately  grasped  her 
other  arm,  and,  between  the  two,  she  was  impelled  for 
ward.  The  saloon  keeper  seemed  unable  to  restrain  his 
voice. 

"Yer  must'r  give  her  one  hell  o'  a  dose,"  he  growled, 
angrily.  "Half  o'  thet  wud  a  bin  'nough.  Why,  damn  it, 
she  kin  hardly  walk." 

"Well,  what's  the  odds?"  it  was  Kirby  who  replied 
sarcastically.  "She  got  more  because  she  wouldn't  drink. 


272  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

We  had  to  make  her  take  it,  and  it  wasn't  no  easy  job. 
Gaskins  will  tell  you  that.    Have  you  got  your  man  here  ?" 

"O*  course ;  he's  waitin'  thar  with  the  hosses.  But  I'm 
damned  if  I  like  this.  She  don't  know  nuthin',  does  she  ?" 

"Maybe  not  now ;  but  she'll  come  around  all  right,  and 
she  signed  her  name.  So  there  ain't  no  hitch.  She  seemed 
to  get  worse  after  that.  Come  on,  we  can't  stand  talking 
here;  let's  get  them  off,  Jack,  there  isn't  any  time  to  waste. 
I  suppose  we'll  have  to  strap  her  into  the  saddle  " 

I  held  back,  and  permitted  them  to  work,  merely  leading 
my  own  horse  slightly  to  one  side,  and  keeping  in  his 
shadow.  I  doubt  if  Kirby  even  glanced  toward  me, 
although  if  he  did  he  saw  only  an  ill-defined  figure,  with 
no  glimpse  of  my  face.  But  the  chances  were  that  I  was 
nothing  to  him  at  that  moment  —  a  mere  floating  bum 
whom  Rale  had  picked  up  to  do  this  job;  and  just  then 
his  whole  attention  was  concentrated  upon  the  half- 
conscious  girl,  and  his  desire  to  get  her  safely  out  of  that 
neighborhood.  My  presence  meant  nothing  of  special 
interest.  Gaskins  brutally  jerked  the  shrinking  mulatto 
forward,  and  forced  her  to  mount  one  of  the  horses.  She 
made  some  faint  protest,  the  nature  of  which  I  failed  to 
catch  clearly,  but  the  fellow  only  laughed  in  reply,  and 
ordered  her  to  keep  quiet.  Eloise  uttered  no  word,  emitted 
no  sound,  made  no  struggle,  as  the  two  other  men  lifted 
her  bodily  into  the  saddle,  where  Kirby  held  her,  swaying 
helplessly  against  him,  while  Rale  strapped  her  securely 
into  place. 

The  entire  proceedings  were  so  brutally  cruel  that  it 
required  all  my  strength  of  will  to  restrain  myself  from 
action.  My  fingers  closed  upon  the  pistol  in  my  pocket, 


KIRBY  AND  I  MEET  273 

and  every  impulse  urged  me  to  hurl  myself  on  the  fellows, 
trusting  everything  to  swift,  bitter  fight.  I  fairly  trem 
bled  in  eagerness  to  grapple  with  Kirby,  hand  to  hand, 
and  crush  him  helpless  to  the  earth.  I  heard  his  voice, 
hateful  and  snarling,  as  he  cursed  Rale  for  his  slowness, 
and  the  hot  blood  boiled  in  my  veins,  when  he  jerked  the 
girl  upright  in  the  saddle. 

'Thar,"  said  the  saloon  keeper,  at  last,  testing  his 
strap.  "I  reckon  she  can't  fall  off  nohow,  even  if  she 
don't  sit  up  worth  a  damn.  Go  ahead  now,  Moffett." 

Both  the  men  stepped  aside,  and  I  led  my  horse  forward. 
The  movement  brought  me  more  into  the  open,  and  face 
to  face  with  Kirby.  By  some  trick  of  fate,  at  that  very 
instant  a  star-gleam,  piercing  through  the  screen  of  leaves 
overhead,  struck  full  into  my  eyes.  With  an  oath  he 
thrust  my  hat  back  and  stared  straight  at  me. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    FUGITIVES 

T  COULD  not  see  the  mingled  hate  and  horror  glaring 
•*•  in  the  man's  eyes,  but  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  his> 
recognition.  The  acknowledgment  found  expression  in 
a  startled  exclamation. 

"By  God!  — you,  here!" 

That  was  all  the  time  I  gave  him.  With  every  pound 
of  strength,  with  every  ounce  of  dislike,  I  drove  a  clenched 
fist  into  that  surprised  face,  and  the  fellow  went  down 
as  though  smitten  by  an  axe.  Even  as  he  reeled,  Rale 
leaped  on  me,  cursing,  failing  to  understand  the  cause,  yet 
instinctively  realizing  the  presence  of  an  enemy.  He 
caught  me  from  behind,  the  very  weight  of  his  heavy 
body  throwing  me  from  balance,  although  I  caught  one 
of  his  arms,  as  he  attempted  to  strike,  and  locked  with 
him  in  desperate  struggle.  He  was  a  much  heavier  and 
stronger  man  than  I,  accustomed  to  barroom  fighting, 
reckless  of  method,  caring  for  nothing  except  to  get  his 
man.  His  grip  was  at  my  throat,  and,  even  as  his  fingers 
closed  savagely,  he  struck  me  with  one  knee  in  the  stom 
ach,  and  drove  an  elbow  straight  into  my  face.  The  next 
instant  we  were  locked  together  so  closely  any  blow 
became  impossible,  youth  and  agility  waging  fierce  battle 
against  brutal  strength.  I  think  I  was  his  match,  yet  this 
I  never  knew  —  for  all  my  thought  centered  in  an  effort 
to  keep  his  hands  from  reaching  any  weapon.  Whatever 

274 


THE  FUGITIVES  275 

happened  to  me,  there  must  be  no  alarm,  no  noise  suffi 
ciently  loud  so  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  sentries  on 
guard.  This  affair  must  be  fought  out  with  bare  knuckles 
and  straining  sinews  —  fought  in  silence  to  the  end.  I 
held  him  to  me  in  a  bear  grip,  but  his  overmastering 
strength  bore  me  backward,  my  body  bending  beneath 
the  strain  until  every  muscle  ached. 

"Damn  you  —  you  sneakin'  spy!"  he  hissed  savagely, 
and  his  jaws  snapped  at  me  like  a  mad  beast.  "Let  go ! 
damn  you  —  let  go!" 

Crazed  by  the  pain,  I  swerved  to  one  side,  and  half  fell, 
my  grip  torn  loose  from  about  his  arms,  but  as  instantly 
closing  again  around  his  lower  body.  He  strained,  but 
failed  to  break  my  grasp,  and  I  should  have  hurled  him 
over  the  hip,  but  at  that  second  Gaskins  struck  me,  and  I 
went  tumbling  down,  with  the  saloon  keeper  falling  flat 
on  top  of  me,  his  pudgy  fingers  still  clawing  fiercely  at 
my  throat.  It  seemed  as  though  consciousness  left  my 
brain,  crushed  into  death  by  those  gripping  hands,  and 
yet  the  spark  of  life  remained,  for  I  heard  the  ex-preacher 
utter  a  yelp,  which  ended  in  a  moan,  as  a  blow  struck  him ; 
then  Rale  was  jerked  off  me,  and  I  sobbingly  caught  my 
breath,  my  throat  free.  Into  my  dazed  mind  there  echoed 
the  sound  of  a  voice. 

"Is  thet  'nough,  Jack?  —  then  holler.  Damn  yer,  yer 
try  thet  agin,  an'  I'll  spill  whut  brains  ye  got  all  over  this 
kintry.  Yes,  it's  Tim  Kennedy  talkin',  an'  he's  talkin' 
ter  ye.  Now  yer  lie  whar  yer  are.  Yer  ain't  killed,  be 
ye,  Knox?" 

I  managed  to  lift  myself  out  of  the  dirt,  still  clutching 
for  breath  but  with  my  mind  clearing. 


276  THE  DEVIL'S  01V N 

"No;  I  guess  I'm  all  right,  Tim,"  I  said,  panting  out 
the  words  with  an  effort.  "What's  become  of  Kirby? 
Don't  let  him  get  away." 

"I  ain't  likely  to.  He's  a  lyin'  right  whar  yer  dropped 
him.  Holy  Smoke !  it  sounded  ter  me  like  ye  hit  him  with 
a  pole-axe.  I  got  his  gun,  an'  thet's  whut's  makin'  this 
skunk  hold  so  blame  still  —  oh,  yes,  I  will,  Jack  Rale;  I'm 
just  a  achin'  fer  ter  let  ye  hav'  it." 

"And  the  other  fellow?    He  hit  me." 

"My  ol1  frien',  Gaskins;  thet's  him,  all  right,"  The 
deputy  gave  vent  to  a  short,  mirthless  laugh.  "Oh,  I 
rapped  him  with  the  butt;  had  ter  do  it.  He'd  got  hold 
ov  a  club  somwhar,  an'  wus  goin'  ter  give  yer  another. 
It  will  be  a  while,  I  reckon,  'fore  he  takes  much  interest. 
What'll  I  do  with  this  red-headed  gink?" 

I  succeeded  in  reaching  my  feet,  and  stood  there  a 
moment,  gaining  what  view  I  could  through  the  darkness. 
The  short  struggle,  desperate  as  it  had  been,  was  not  a 
noisy  one,  and  I  could  hear  nothing  about  us  to  indicate 
any  alarm.  No  hurrying  footsteps,  no  cries  told  of  dis 
turbance  in  any  direction.  Kirby  rested  exactly  as  he  had 
fallen,  and  I  stared  down  at  the  dim  outlines  of  his  dis 
tended  body,  unable  to  comprehend  how  my  swift  blow 
could  have  wrought  such  damage.  I  bent  over  him  won- 
deringly,  half  believing  he  feigned  unconsciousness.  The 
fellow  was  alive,  but  his  head  lay  upon  a  bit  of  jagged 
rock  —  this  was  what  had  caused  serious  injury,  not  the 
impact  of  my  fist.  Kennedy  had  one  hard  knee  pressed 
into  Rale's  abdomen  and  the  star-rays  reflected  back  the 
steel  glimmer  of  the  pistol  held  threateningly  before  the 
man's  eyes.  The  horses  beyond  stood  motionless,  and  the 


THE  FUGITIVES  277' 

two  women  in  the  saddles  appeared  like  silent  shadows. 
I  stood  up  once  more,  peering  through  the  darkness  and 
listening.  Whatever  was  to  be  done,  I  must  decide,  and 
quickly. 

"Have  Rale  stand  up,  but  keep  him  covered.  Don't 
give  him  any  chance  to  break  away;  now  wait  —  there  is 
a  lariat  rope  hanging  to  this  saddle;  I'll  get  it." 

It  was  a  strong  cord  and  of  good  length,  and  we  pro 
ceeded  to  bind  the  fellow  securely  in  spite  of  his  objec 
tions,  I  taking  charge  of  the  pistol,  while  Tim,  who  was 
more  expert,  did  the  job  in  a  workmanlike  manner.  Rale 
ventured  no  resistance,  although  he  made  no  effort  to 
restrain  his  tongue. 

'Thar  ain't  no  use  pullin'  thet  rope  so  tight,  yer  ol' 
fule.  By  God,  but  yer  goin'  ter  pay  fer  all  this.  Maybe 
ye  think  ye  kin  git  away  in  this  kintry,  but  I'll  show  ye. 
Damn  nice  trick  yer  two  played,  wa'n't  it?  The  lafe  will 
be  on  'tother  side  afore  termorrer  night.  No,  I  won't 
shet  up,  an'  ye  can't  make  me  —  ye  ain't  done  with  this 
job  yet.  Curse  ye,  Tim  Kennedy,  let  up  on  thet." 

"Now  gag  him,  Tim,"  I  said  quietly.  "Yes,  use  the 
neckerchief.  He  can  do  more  damage  with  his  mouth 
than  any  other  way.  Good  enough;  you  are  an  artist  in 
your  line ;  now  help  me  drag  him  over  here  into  the  woods. 
He  is  a  heavy  one.  That  will  do;  all  we  can  hope  for  is 
a  few  hours  start." 

"Is  Kirby  dead?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  but  he  has  got  an  ugly  bump  and  lost 
some  blood,  his  head  struck  a  rock  when  he  fell.  It  will 
be  a  while,  I  imagine,  before  he  wakes  up.  How  about 
your  man?" 


278  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

He  crossed  over  and  bent  down  above  the  fellow,  feel 
ing  with  his  hands  in  the  darkness. 

"I  reckon  he's  a  goner,  Cap,"  he  admitted,  as  though 
surprised.  "Gosh,  I  must'r  hit  the  cuss  harder  than  I 
thought —  fair  caved  in  his  hed,  the  pore  devil.  I  reckon 
it's  no  great  loss  ter  noboddy." 

"But  are  you  sure  he  is  dead  ?  That  will  put  a  different 
aspect  on  all  this,  Kennedy !"  I  exclaimed  gravely,  facing 
him  as  he  arose  to  his  feet.  "That  and  the  belief  I  now 
have  that  Kirby  has  already  consummated  his  plan  of 
marriage  with  Miss  Beaucaire." 

"You  mean  he  has — " 

"Yes,  that  he  has  forced  the  girl  to  assent  to  some 
form  of  ceremony,  probably  legal  in  this  country.  I 
overheard  enough  between  him  and  Rale  to  suspect  it, 
at  least,  and  she  is  even  now  under  the  influence  of  some 
drug.  She  hasn't  spoken,  nor  does  she  seem  to  know 
what  is  going  on  about  her.  They  strapped  her  into  the 
saddle." 

"The  hell  they  did." 

"It  has  been  a  hellish  affair  all  the  way  through,  and 
the  only  way  in  which  I  can  serve  her,  if  this  is  so,  is  by 
getting  her  away  —  as  far  away  as  possible,  and  where 
this  devil  can  never  find  her  again.  She's  got  to  be  saved 
not  only  from  him,  but  also  from  the  scandal  of  it." 

He  stood  silent,  little  more  than  a  shadow  before  me, 
his  head  bent,  as  though  struggling  with  a  new  thought,  a 
fresh  understanding. 

"I  reckon  I  kin  see  thet,  sir,  now/''  His  voice  some 
how  contained  a  new  note  of  respect,  as  though  the  truth 
had  suddenly  dawned  upon  him.  "I  didn't  just  get  hold 


THE  FUGITIVES 279 

o'  things  rightly  afore;  why  an  army  offercer  like  yer 
should  be  mixed  up  in  this  sorter  job.  But  I  reckon  I 
do  now  —  yer  in  love  with  her  yerself ;  ain't  thet  it,  sir?" 

"Yes,  Tim,"  I  confessed  frankly,  and  not  at  all  sorry 
to  make  the  avowal.  "That  is  the  truth.  Now  what 
would  you  do  if  you  were  in  my  place?" 

"Jr.st  exactly  whut  yer  doin',  I  reckon,"  he  returned 
heartily.  "Only  maybe  I'd  kill  thet  dirty  skunk  afore  I 
went  away;  damned  if  I  wudn't." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No,  not  in  cold-blood.  I  wouldn't  have  been  sorry  if 
he  had  died  fighting,  but  murder  is  not  my  line.  He 
deserves  death,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  not  possible  for  me 
to  kill  him  lying  there  helpless.  What  bothers  me  most 
right  now  is  your  case." 

"Mine?     Lord,  what's  the  matter  with  me?" 

"Considerable,  I  should  say.  You  cannot  be  left  here 
alone  to  face  the  result  of  this  night's  work.  If  Gaskins 
is  dead  from  the  blow  you  struck  him,  these  two  fellows 
will  swear  your  life  away  just  for  revenge.  Even  if  you 
told  the  whole  story,  what  chance  would  you  have? 
That  would  only  expose  us,  and  still  fail  to  clear  you.  It 
would  merely  be  your  word  against  theirs  —  you  would 
have  no  witnesses,  unless  we  were  caught." 

"I  reckon  thet's  true;  I  wasn't  thinkin'  'bout  it." 

"Then  there  is  only  the  one  road  to  take,  Tim,"  I 
insisted.  "We've  got  to  strike  the  trail  together." 

"Whar?" 

"I  cannot  answer  that  now;  I  haven't  thought  it  out 
yet.  We  can  talk  that  matter  over  as  we  ride.  I  have 
a  map  with  me,  which  will  help  us  decide  the  best  course 


2SO  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

to  choose.  The  first  tiling  is  to  get  out  of  this  neighbor 
hood  beyond  pursuit.  If  you  only  had  a  horse.'' 

"Thars  two  critters  down  in  the  crick  bottom.  I 
reckon  thet  Kirby  an'  Gaskins  must'r  tied  'em  thar." 

"Good;  then  you  will  go;  you  agree  with  me?" 

"Thar  ain't  nuthin'  else  fer  me  ter  do  —  hangin'  ain't 
never  bin  no  hobby  o'  mine.  As  I  understand  it,  this 
Gaskins  wus  one  o'  these  yere  militia  men.  I  reckon  thet 
if  these  yere  two  bugs  wus  ter  swear  thet  I  killed  him — 
as  most  likely  they  will — them  boys  wud  string  me  up 
furst,  an'  find  out  fer  sure  afterwards.  Thar  ain't  so 
damn  much  law  up  yere,  an'  thet's  'bout  whut  wud  hap 
pen.  So  the  sooner  I  leave  these  yere  parts,  the  more 
likely  I  am  ter  live  a  while  yet." 

"Then  let's  start,"  decisively.  'Tick  up  one  of  those 
horses  down  on  the  bottom,  and  turn  the  other  one 
loose.  I'll  lead  on  down  the  trail  and  you  can  meet  us 
at  the  ford  —  once  across  the  creek  we  can  decide  which 
way  to  travel;  there  must  be  four  hours  of  darkness 
yet." 

I  picked  up  the  trailing  rein  of  my  horse  and  slipped 
my  arm  through  it.  Tim  faded  away  in  the  gloom  like 
a  vanishing  shadow.  The  young  woman  next  me, 
strapped  securely  to  her  saddle,  made  no  movement,  ex 
hibited  no  sign  of  interest;  her  head  and  body  drooped, 
yet  her  hands  grasped  the  pommel  as  though  she  still 
retained  some  dim  conception  of  her  situation.  The  face 
under  her  hood  was  bent  forward  and  shaded  and  her 
eyes,  although  they  seemed  open,  gave  no  heed  to  my 
presence.  I  touched  her  hands  —  thank  God,  they  were 
moist  and  warm,  but  when  I  spoke  her  name  it  brought 


THE  FUGITIVES 281 

no  response.  The  other  horse,  ridden  by  the  mulatto  girl, 
was  forced  in  between  us. 

"Who  are  ye?"  she  questioned,  wonderingly.  "Ye  just 
called  her  by  name,  an'  ye  must  know  her.  What  ye 
goin'  f er  ter  do  with  us,  sah  ?" 

I  looked  up  toward  her  face,  without  distinguishing 
its  outlines.  I  felt  this  was  no  time  to  explain ;  that  every 
moment  lost  was  of  value. 

"Never  mind  now ;  I  know  who  she  is  and  that  you  are 
Elsie  Clark.  We  are  your  friends." 

"No  he  ain't — not  thet  other  man;  he  ain't  no  friend 
o'  mine,  Ah  tell  ye.  He's  de  one  whut  locked  me  up  on 
de  boat.  Ah  sure  know'd  his  voice;  he  done  locked  me 
up,  an'  Ah's  a  free  nigger." 

"Forget  that,  Elsie;  he's  helping  you  now  to  get  away. 
You  do  just  what  I  tell  you  to  and  above  all  keep  still. 
Miss  Beaucaire  was  drugged,  wasn't  she?" 

"Ah  don't  know,  sah.  She  sure  does  act  mighty  queer, 
but  Ah  nebber  see  her  take  nuthin'.  Ah  nebber  see 
nuthin'  'tall  till  dey  took  me  outer  de  shack  an'  galivanted 
me  up  yere.  Whar  I  heerd  yer  voice  afore  ?" 

"I  haven't  time  to  explain  that;  we  are  going  now." 

I  started  forward  on  foot,  leading  my  horse,  the  others 
trailing  after  through  the  darkness.  Knowing  nothing  of 
the  way,  I  was  thus  better  able  to  pick  the  path,  yet  I 
found  this  not  difficult,  as  it  was  rather  plainly  outlined 
by  the  forest  growth  on  either  side.  It  led  downward  at 
a  gentle  slope,  although  the  grade  was  sufficiently  steep 
so  as  to  force  Eloise's  body  forward  and  compel  me  to 
support  her  as  best  I  could  with  one  arm.  She  still  ap 
peared  to  be  staring  directly  ahead  with  unseeing  eyes, 


282  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

although  her  hands  clung  as  tightly  as  ever  to  the  saddle 
pommel.  I  clinched  my  teeth,  half  crazed  at  the  sight  of 
her  condition,  yet  feeling  utterly  helpless  to  do  more.  I 
spoke  to  her  again,  but  received  no  answer,  not  the  slight 
est  evidence  that  she  even  heard  my  voice  or  recognized 
her  name. 

The  trail  was  clay  with  a  few  small  stones  embedded 
in  it,  and  the  horses  made  little  noise  in  their  descent, 
except  once  when  Elsie's  animal  slipped  and  sent  a  loos 
ened  bit  of  rock  rolling  down  to  splash  in  some  pool  below. 
We  came  to  the  bank  of  the  creek  at  last,  a  narrow 
stream,  easily  fordable,  but  with  a  rather  steep  shore 
line  beyond,  and  waited  there  a  moment  until  Tim 
emerged  from  out  the  black  woods  at  our  right  and  joined 
us.  He  was  mounted,  and,  believing  the  time  had  arrived 
for  more  rapid  movement,  I  also  swung  up  into  saddle 
and  ranged  the  girl's  horse  beside  mine. 

"It  looks  to  be  open  country  beyond  there,"  I  said, 
pointing  across,  "what  little  I  can  see  of  it.  You  better 
ride  the  other  side  of  Miss  Beaucaire,  Tim,  and  help  me 
hold  her  up  —  the  colored  girl  can  trail  behind.  We'll 
jog  the  horses  a  bit." 

They  were  not  stock  to  be  proud  of,  yet  they  did  fairly 
well,  Tim's  mount  evidently  the  best  of  the  four.  The 
going  was  decidedly  better  once  we  had  topped  the  bank. 
The  stars  were  bright  enough  overhead  to  render  the 
well-marked  trail  easily  visible,  and  this  led  directly 
southward,  across  a  rolling  plain.  We  may  have  ridden 
for  two  miles  without  a  word,  for,  although  I  had  no 
intention  of  proceeding  far  in  this  direction,  I  could  dis 
cover  no  opportunity  for  changing  our  course,  so  as  to 


THE  FUGITIVES  283 

baffle  pursuit.  That  Kirby  and  Rale  would  endeavor  to 
follow  us  at  the  earliest  opportunity  was  most  probable. 
They  were  neither  of  them  the  sort  to  accept  defeat  with 
out  a  struggle,  and,  after  the  treatment  they  had  received, 
the  desire  for  revenge  would  be  uppermost.  Nor  thus  far 
would  there  be  any  difficulty  in  their  picking  up  our  trail, 
at  least  as  far  as  the  creek  crossing,  and  this  would  assure 
them  the  direction  we  had  chosen.  Beyond  the  ford 
tracing  our  movements  might  prove  more  troublesome,  as 
the  short,  wiry  grass  under  foot,  retained  but  slight  im 
print  of  unshod  hoofs,  the  soil  beneath  being  of  a  hard 
clay.  Yet  to  strike  directly  out  across  the  prairie  would 
be  a  dangerous  experiment. 

Then  suddenly,  out  of  the  mysterious  darkness  which 
closed  us  in,  another  grove  loomed  up  immediately  in 
our  front,  and  the  trail  plunged  sharply  downward  into 
the  depths  of  a  rugged  ravine.  I  was  obliged  to  dismount 
and  feel  my  way  cautiously  to  the  bottom,  delighted  to 
discover  there  a  smoothly  flowing,  narrow  stream,  run 
ning  from  the  eastward  between  high  banks,  overhung  by 
trees.  It  was  a  dismal,  gloomy  spot,  a  veritable  cave  of 
darkness,  yet  apparently  the  very  place  I  had  been  seeking 
for  our  purpose.  I  could  not  even  perceive  the  others, 
but  the  restless  movement  of  their  horses  told  me  of 
their  presence. 

"Kennedy." 

"Right  yere,  sir.  Lord,  but  it's  dark — found  eny- 
thing?" 

"There  is  a  creek  here.  I  don't  know  where  it  flows 
from,  but  it  seems  to  come  out  of  the  east.  One  thing  is 
certain,  we  have  got  to  get  off  this  trail.  If  we  can  lead 


284  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

the  horses  up  stream  a  way  and  then  circle  back  it  would 
keep  those  fellows  guessing  for  a  while.  Come  here  and 
see  what  you  think  of  the  chance." 

He  was  not  to  exceed  two  yards  away  from  me,  but 
came  shuffling  uncertainly  forward,  feeling  gingerly  for 
footing  in  the  blackness  along  the  rock-strewn  bank.  His 
outstretched  hand  touched  me,  startling  us  both,  before 
we  were  aware  of  our  close  proximity. 

"Hell,  but  I'm  as  blind  as  a  bat,"  he  laughed.  "Is  this 
the  crick?  How  wide  is  it?" 

"I  just  waded  across;  about  five  yards  and  not  more 
than  two  feet  deep." 

"Maybe  it's  blocked  up  above." 

"Of  course,  it  might  be,  but  it  seems  like  a  chance 
worth  taking.  We  are  sure  to  be  caught  if  we  hang  to 
this  trail." 

"I  reckon  thet's  so.  Ye  let  me  go  ahead  with  the  nigger 
gurl,  an'  then  follow  after  us,  leadin'  Miss  Beaucaire's 
hoss.  By  jemmy  crickets,  'tain't  deep  'nough  fer  ter 
drown  us  enyway,  an'  I  ain't  much  afeerd  a'  the  dark. 
Thar's  likely  ter  be  sum  place  whar  we  kin  get  out  up 
thar.  Whar  the  hell  are  them  hosses  ?" 

We  succeeded  in  locating  the  animals  by  feeling  and  I 
waited  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  the  two  reins  wrapped 
about  my  arm,  until  I  heard  the  others  go  splashing  down 
into  the  water.  Then  I  also  groped  my  own  way 
cautiously  forward,  the  two  horses  trailing  behind  me, 
down  the  sharply  shelving  bank  into  the  stream.  Tim 
chose  his  course  near  to  the  opposite  shore,  and  I  fol 
lowed  his  lead  closely,  guided  largely  by  the  splashing  of 
Elsie's  animal  through  the  shallow  water.  Our  move- 


THE  FUGITIVES 285 

ment  was  a  very  slow  and  cautious  one,  Kennedy  halting 
frequently  to  assure  himself  that  the  passage  ahead  was 
safe.  Fortunately  the  bottom  was  firm  and  the  current 
not  particularly  strong,  our  greatest  obstacle  being  the 
low-hanging  branches  which  swept  against  us.  Much 
of  my  time  was  expended  in  holding  these  back  from 
contact  with  Eloise's  face,  our  horses  sedately  plodding 
along  behind  their  leaders. 

I  think  we  must  have  waded  thus  to  exceed  a  mile 
when  we  came  to  a  fork  in  the  stream  and  plumped  into 
a  tangle  of  uprooted  trees,  which  ended  our  further 
progress.  Between  the  two  branches,  after  a  little  search, 
we  discovered  a  gravelly  beach,  on  which  the  horses' hoofs 
would  leave  few  permanent  marks.  Beyond  this  gravel 
we  plunged  into  an  open  wood  through  whose  intricacies 
we  were  compelled  to  grope  blindly,  Tim  and  I  both  afoot, 
and  constantly  calling  to  each  other,  so  as  not  to  become 
separated.  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction,  when  this 
forest  finally  ended,  and  we  again  emerged  upon  open 
prairie,  with  a  myriad  of  stars  shining  overhead. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 

OP  HE  relief  of  thus  being  able  to  perceive  each  other 
•*•  and  gain  some  view  of  our  immediate  surroundings, 
after  that  struggle  through  darkness,  cannot  be  expressed 
in  words.  My  first  thought  was  for  the  girl,  whose  horse 
I  had  been  leading,  but  her  eyes  were  no  longer  open  and 
staring  vacantly  forward ;  they  were  now  tightly  closed, 
and,  to  all  appearances,  she  slept  soundly  in  the  saddle. 
In  the  first  shock  of  so  discovering  her,  I  touched  her 
flesh  to  assure  myself  that  she  was  not  dead,  but  the 
blood  was  flowing  warm  and  life-like  through  her  veins. 
She  breathed  so  naturally  I  felt  this  slumber  must  be  a 
symptom  of  recovery. 

We  were  upon  a  rather  narrow  tongue  of  land,  the 
two  diverging  forks  of  the  stream  closing  us  in.  So, 
after  a  short  conversation,  we  continued  to  ride  straight 
forward,  keeping  rather  close  to  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
so  as  to  better  conceal  our  passage.  Our  advance,  while 
not  rapid,  was  steady,  and  we  must  have  covered  several 
miles  before  the  east  began  to  show  gray,  the  ghastly  light 
of  the  new  dawn  revealing  our  tired  faces.  Ahead  of  us 
stretched  an  extensive  swamp,  with  pools  of  stagnant 
water  shimmering  through  lush  grass  and  brown  fringes 
of  cat-tails  bordering  their  edges.  Seemingly  our 
further  advance  was  stopped,  nor  could  we  determine  the 
end  of  the  morass  confronting  us.  Some  distance  out 

236 


ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 287 

in  this  desolation,  and  only  half  revealed  through  the  dim 
light,  a  somewhat  higher  bit  of  land,  rocky  on  its  exposed 
side,  its  crest  crowned  with  trees,  arose  like  an  island. 
Tim  stared  across  at  it,  shading  his  eyes  with  one  hand. 

"If  we  wus  goin'  ter  stop  enywhar,  Cap,"  he  said 
finally,  "I  reckon  thar  ain't  no  better  place  then  thet, 
pervidin'  we  kin  git  thar." 

I  followed  his  gaze,  and  noticed  that  the  mulatto  girl 
also  lifted  her  head  to  look. 

"We  certainly  must  rest,"  I  confessed.  "Miss  Beau- 
caire  seems  to  be  sleeping,  but  I  am  sure  is  thoroughly 
exhausted.  Do  you  see  any  way  of  getting  across  the 
swamp  ?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  Elsie  instantly  pointed  toward 
the  left,  crying  out  eagerly: 

"Sure,  Ah  do.  The  Ian'  is  higher  'long  thar,  sah  — 
yer  kin  see  shale  rock." 

"So  you  can;  it  almost  looks  like  a  dyke.  Let's  try  it, 
Tim." 

It  was  not  exactly  a  pleasant  passage,  or  a  safe  one, 
but  the  continual  increase  in  light  aided  us  in  picking 
our  way  above  the  black  water  on  either  hand.  I  let  my 
horse  follow  those  in  front  as  he  pleased  and  held  tightly 
to  the  bit  of  the  one  bearing  Eloise.  It  had  to  be  made 
in  single  file,  and  we  encountered  two  serious  breaches 
in  the  formation  where  the  animals  nearly  lost  their  foot 
ing,  the  hind  limbs  of  one,  indeed,  sliding  into  the  muck, 
but  finally  reached  the  island  end,  clambering  up  through 
a  fissure  in  the  rock  and  emerging  upon  the  higher,  dry 
ground.  The  island  thus  attained  proved  a  small  one, 
not  exceeding  a  hundred  yards  wide,  rather  sparsely 


288  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

covered  with  forest  trees,  the  space  between  these,  thick 
with  undergrowth.  What  first  attracted  my  gaze  after 
penetrating  the  tree  fringe  was  the  glimpse  of  a  small 
shack,  built  of  poles,  and  thatched  with  coarse  grass, 
which  stood  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  island.  It  was  a 
rudely  constructed,  primitive  affair,  and  to  all  appear 
ances  deserted.  My  first  thought  was  that  we  had 
stumbled  upon  some  Indian  hut,  but  I  felt  it  safer  to  ex 
plore  its  interior  before  permitting  the  others  to  venture 
closer. 

"Hold  the  horses  here,  Tim ;  let  me  see  what  we  have 
ahead  first." 

I  approached  the  place  from  the  rear,  peering  in 
through  the  narrow  openings  between  the  upright  poles. 
The  light  was  so  poor  I  was  not  able  to  perceive  much, 
but  did  succeed  in  fully  convincing  myself  that  the  dismal 
shack  was  unoccupied.  The  door  stood  unlatched  and  I 
pushed  it  open.  A  single  glance  served  to  reveal  every 
thing  the  place  contained.  Without  doubt  it  had  been 
the  late  abode  of  Indians,  who,  in  all  probability  had  fled 
hastily  to  join  Black  Hawk  in  his  foray  up  Rock  River. 
There  was  no  pretense  at  furniture  of  any  description  — 
nothing,  indeed,  but  bare  walls  and  trampled  dirt  floor, 
but  what  interested  me  most  was  a  small  bit  of  jerked 
deer  meat  which  still  hung  against  an  upright  and  the  rude 
stone  fireplace  in  the  center  of  the  hut,  with  an  opening 
above  to  carry  away  the  smoke.  I  had  found  during  the 
night  a  fair  supply  of  hard  bread  in  my  saddle-bag,  and 
now,  with  this  additional  gift  of  Providence,  felt  assured, 
at  least,  of  one  sufficient  meal.  I  stood  there  for  perhaps 
a  minute,  staring  woncleringly  about  that  gloomy  interior, 


iSLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 289 

but  making  no  further  discoveries,  then  I  returned  with 
out  and  called  to  the  others. 

"It  is  all  right,  Tim,  there  is  no  one  here.  An  old 
Indian  camp,  with  nothing  but  a  junk  of  jerked  deer  meat 
left  behind.  Elsie,  gather  up  some  of  that  old  wood 
yonder  and  build  a  fire.  Kennedy  and  I  will  look  after 
Miss  Beaucaire." 

It  was  bright  day  by  this  time,  the  red  of  the  rising 
sun  in  the  sky,  and  I  could  trace  the  radius  of  swamp  land 
stretching'  about  us  on  every  hand,  a  grim,  desolate  scene 
even  in  the  beauty  of  that  clear  dawn.  We  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  approach  the  spot  along  the  only 
available  pathway  which  led  to  this  little  oasis,  and  a 
more  secure  hiding  place  it  would  be  difficult  to  find.  The 
tree  growth  and  heavy  underbrush  completely  concealed 
the  miserable  shack  from  view  in  every  direction,  and 
what  faint  trail  we  had  left  behind  us  since  we  took  to 
the  water  of  the  creek  would  be  extremely  hard  to  fol 
low.  I  felt  almost  at  ease  for  the  present  and  satisfied 
to  rest  here  for  several  hours. 

Tim  assisted  me  in  unstrapping  Eloise,  and  lifting  her 
from  the  saddle,  and,  as  she  made  no  effort  to  help  her 
self,  the  two  of  us  carried  her  to  a  warm,  sunny  spot 
beside  the  wall  of  the  hut.  Her  cramped  limbs  refused 
to  support  her  body,  and  her  eyes,  then  open,  yet  retained 
that  vacant  look  so  noticeable  from  the  first.  The  only 
change  was  in  the  puzzled  way  with  which  she  stared  into 
our  faces,  as  though  memory  might  be  struggling  back, 
and  she  was  vaguely  endeavoring  to  understand.  Except 
for  this  pathetic  look,  she  had  never  appeared  more  at 
tractive  to  my  eyes,  with  color  in  cheeks  and  lips.  Her 


290  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

hood  had  fallen  backward,  revealing  her  glossy  hair  still 
smoothly  brushed,  while  the  brilliancy  of  the  sun 
light  only  made  more  manifest  the  delicate  beauty 
of  her  features.  Tim  led  the  horses  away  and  staked 
them  out  where  they  could  crop  the  rich,  dewy 
grass.  After  removing  the  saddles,  he  followed  the 
mulatto  girl  into  the  hut,  and  I  could  hear  the  murmur  of 
their  voices.  I  endeavored  to  address  Eloise,  seeking  thus 
to  awaken  her  to  some  sense  of  my  presence,  but  she 
merely  smiled  meaninglessly,  leaned  her  head  wearily 
back  against  the  poles  and  closed  her  eyes. 

It  was  a  poor  meal  enough,  although  it  sufficed  to  dull 
hunger,  and  yield  us  some  strength.  Eloise  succeeded  in 
choking  down  a  few  morsels,  but  drank  thirstily.  It  was 
pitiful  to  watch  her,  and  to  mark  the  constant  effort  she 
was  making  to  force  the  return  of  memory.  Her  eyes, 
dull,  uncomprehending,  wandered  continually  from  face 
to  face  in  our  little  group,  but  no  flash  of  intelligence 
lighted  up  their  depths.  I  had  Elsie  bathe  her  face  with 
water  and  while,  no  doubt,  this  refreshed  her  somewhat, 
she  only  rested  her  head  back  on  my  coat,  which  I  had 
folded  for  a  pillow,  and  again  closed  her  heavy  eyes. 
The  negress  appeared  so  tired  I  bade  her  lie  down  and 
sleep,  and  soon  after  Tim  also  disappeared.  I  remained 
there  alone,  guarding  the  woman  I  loved. 

I  myself  had  reason  enough  to  be  weary,  yet  was  not 
conscious  of  the  slightest  desire  to  rest.  My  mind  did 
not  crave  sleep.  That  Eloise  had  been  drugged  for  a  pur 
pose  was  now  beyond  controversy,  but  what  the  nature 
of  that  drug  might  be,  and  how  it  could  be  combated, 
were  beyond  my  power  to  determine.  Even  if  I  knew, 


ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP  291 

the  only  remedies  at  hand  were  water  and  fresh  air. 
And  how  were  we  to  escape,  burdened  by  this  helpless 
girl,  from  pursuit,  which,  perhaps,  had  already  started 
from  Yellow  Banks  ?  At  all  hazards  I  must  now  prevent 
this  dazed,  stupified  woman  from  ever  again  falling  into 
the  power  of  Joe  Kirby.  That  was  the  one  fact  I  knew. 
I  would  rather  kill  her  with  my  own  hand,  for  I  was  con 
vinced  the  fellow  actually  possessed  a  legal  right,  which 
I  could  not  hope  to  overthrow.  However  it  had  been 
accomplished,  through  what  villainy,  made  no  odds — • 
she  was  his  wife,  and  could  only  be  released  through 
process  of  law.  He  could  claim  her,  hold  her  in  spite  of 
me,  in  spite  of  herself.  No  influence  I  might  bring  to 
bear  would  save  her  now  from  this  contamination.  It 
would  all  be  useless,  a  thing  for  laughter.  Her  signature 
—  of  which  Kirby  had  boasted  —  and  the  certificate 
signed  by  the  dead  Gaskins,  would  offset  any  possible 
efforts  I  might  put  forth.  There  remained  no  hope  except 
through  flight;  outdistancing  our  pursuers;  finding  a 
route  to  safety  through  the  wilderness  which  they  would 
never  suspect. 

Where  could  such  a  route  be  found  ?  In  which  direc 
tion  was  it  safest  for  us  to  turn?  Surely  not  southward 
down  the  river  seeking  refuge  at  Fort  Madison,  nor  in 
the  opposite  direction  toward  Fort  Armstrong.  I  thought 
of  both  of  these,  but  only  to  dismiss  them  from  considera 
tion.  Had  it  not  been  for  this  marriage,  either  might 
have  answered,  but  now  they  would  prove  no  protection. 
Those  men  whom  we  were  seeking  to  escape  would 
remember  these  points  at  once,  and  suspect  our  fleeing 
to  either  one  or  the  other.  There  was  no  power  there 


292 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

able  to  protect  her  from  the  lawful  authority  of  a  hus 
band;  nor  could  she  deny  that  authority,  if  he  held  in 
his  hands  the  proof.  No,  I  must  find  an  unknown  path, 
an  untraveled  trail.  Our  only  hope  lay  in  baffling  pur 
suit,  in  getting  far  beyond  Kirby's  grip.  For  the  moment 
I  felt  reasonably  safe  where  we  were  —  but  only  for  the 
moment.  We  could  rest  on  this  isolated  island,  barely 
lifting  itself  above  the  swamp,  and  plan  our  future,  but 
within  the  limits  of  another  day,  probably,  those  fellows 
would  discover  signs  of  our  passage,  faint  as  they  were, 
and  follow  us.  I  dragged  the  map  out  from  its  silk  wrap 
ping  and  spread  it  forth  on  the  ground  between  my  knees. 
It  was  the  latest  government  survey,  given  me  when  I 
first  departed  for  the  North,  and  I  already  knew  every 
line  and  stream  by  heart.  I  bent  over  it  in  uncertainty, 
studying  each  feature,  gradually  determining  the  better 
course,  weighing  this  consideration  and  that. 

I  became  so  interested  in  the  problem  as  to  entirely 
forget  her  presence,  but,  when  I  finally  lifted  my  head, 
our  eyes  met,  and  I  instantly  read  in  the  depths  of  hers 
the  dawning  of  recognition.  They  were  no  longer  dull, 
dead,  emotionless,  but  aglow  with  returning  life  — 
puzzled,  unassured,  yet  clearly  conscious. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  breathed  incredulously,  lifting 
herself  upon  one  hand.  "Oh,  surely  I  know  —  Lieutenant 
Knox !  Why,  where  am  I  ?  What  has  happened  ?  Oh, 
God !  you  do  not  need  to  tell  me  that!  But  you;  I  cannot 
understand  about  you.  They — they  said  you  died." 

"They  must  have  said  much  to  deceive  you,"  and  I 
bent  forward  to  touch  her  hand.  "See,  I  am  very  much 
alive.  Let  me  tell  you  —  that  will  be  the  quickest  way  to 


ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP  293 

understand.  In  the  first  place  I  did  not  drown  when  the 
boat  was  smashed,  but  was  rendered  helpless  and  borne 
away  on  the  water.  I  drifted  through  the  darkness  out 
into  the  Mississippi,  and  later  became  caught  on  a  snag 
in  the  middle  of  that  stream.  The  Adventurer  rescued 
me  about  daylight  the  next  morning,  and  I  was  no  sooner 
on  board  than  I  was  told  how  the  keel-boat  had  been  run 
down  below  on  the  river  during  the  night  and  that  your 
party  had  all  been  saved — two  white  men  and  twro 
negress  slaves.  Of  course,  I  knew  you  must  be  one  of 
them." 

"Then  —  then  we  were  actually  together,  on  the  same 
boat,  all  the  way  up  here?" 

"Yes;  I  tried  hard  to  find  where  you  were  concealed 
on  board,  but  failed:  I  might  not  have  helped  you,  but 
I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  know  I  was  alive.  Kirby 
guarded  you  with  great  care  from  all  observation.  Do 
you  know  why?" 

Her  wide-opened  eyes  gazed  into  mine  frankly,  but  her 
lips  trembled. 

"Yes/'  she  answered,  as  though  forcing  herself  to 
speak.  "I  do  know  now.  I  thought  I  knew  then,  but 
was  mistaken.  I  supposed  it  might  be  because  I  looked 
so  little  like  a  negress,  but  now  I  realize  it  was  his  own 
conscience.  He  knew  I  was  a  white  woman;  he  had 
become  convinced  that  I  was  Eloise  Beaucaire.  Did  you 
know  that,  also  ?" 

"I  learned  the  truth  on  the  boat,  from  the  same  source 
where  Kirby  obtained  his  information.  Elsie  Clark  told 
me." 

"Elsie  Clark!    Who  is  she?    How  did  she  know ?" 


294 THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

"A  free  negress,  who  had  been  employed  by  Amos 
Shrunk.  She  was  the  other  prisoner  on  the  keel-boat 
when  you  were  captured,  kept  locked  below  in  the  cabin. 
Surely  you  knew  there  was  another  woman  taken  aboard 
the  Adventurer?" 

"Yes,  but  we  never  spoke;  she  was  below,  and  they 
kept  me  on  deck.  How  could  she  know  who  I  was  ?" 

"She  did  not.  Only  she  was  positive  that  you  could 
not  be  Rene  Beaucaire,  because  she  knew  that  Rene,  in 
company  with  her  mother,  had  departed  from  Shrunk' s 
cabin  before  those  raiders  came.  The  two  had  already 
started  for  Beardstown." 

She  sat  upright,  all  lassitude  gone  from  her  body, 
leaning  eagerly  toward  me,  her  eyes  alight  with  interest. 

"Gone !  Rene  escaped  them !"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice 
choking.  "Oh,  tell  me  that  again.  Was  the  girl  sure?" 

"Quite  sure;  she  had  cooked  them  breakfast  and  talked 
with  Rene  afterwards.  She  saw  and  spoke  with  both  the 
women  before  they  left  in  a  wagon.  They  were  on  the 
Underground,  bound  for  Canada,  and  safety." 

"Thank  God!  Oh,  I  thank  God!"  Her  face  sank 
until  it  was  concealed  within  her  hands.  When  it  lifted 
again  the  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears. 

"I  am  so  glad  —  so  glad/'  she  said  simply.  "Now  I 
am  strong  enough  to  hear  the  rest,  Lieutenant  Knox. 
You  must  tell  me." 

"There  is  not  so  much  to  tell,  that  I  am  cock-sure 
about."  I  began  slowly.  "Kirby  had  you  securely  hidden 
away  somewhere  on  the  second  deck,  while  this  Clark 
girl  had  been  locked  into  a  stateroom  above.  I  possessed 
such  a  growth  of  beard  and  was  altogether  so  disreputable 


ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 295 

looking  as  to  be  mistaken  for  a  roustabout  by  the  boat's 
officers,  who  set  me  at  work  to  earn  my  passage.  In  this 
way  I  managed  to  talk  with  Elsie,  but  failed  to  locate  your 
quarters.  The  only  glimpse  I  gained  of  you  was  when 
you  were  being  taken  ashore.  Then  I  followed,  and  a 
little  later  succeeded  in  getting  you  out  of  Kirby' s  hands. 
That  is  about  all." 

"Oh,  no,  it  is  not — you — you  came  too  late." 
'Too  late!    Perhaps  I  may  know  what  you  mean." 
"Do  you?     Surely  not  to  blame  me!     I  —  I  wish  to 
tell  you,  Lieutenant  Knox,  but  —  but  I  scarcely  know 
how.    It  is  all  so  dim,  indistinct  in  my  own  mind  —  and 
yet  I  remember.    I  am  trying  so  hard  to  recall  how  it  all 
happened,  but  nothing  remains  clear  in  my  mind.    Have 
I  been  drugged?" 

"Without  question.  We  have  been  riding  all  night 
and  you  were  strapped  to  your  horse.  Probably  you 
have  no  recollection  of  this  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  bewilderment,  gazing  about  as 
though  noting  the  strange  surroundings  for  the  first  time. 
"No ;  the  last  I  remember  I  was  with  Kirby  and  another 
man.  He — he  was  dressed  like  a  minister,  but  —  but  he 
was  half  drunk,  and  once  he  swore  at  me.  The  place 
where  we  were  was  a  little  shack  in  the  side  of  a  hill, 
with  stone  walls.  Kirby  took  me  there  from  the  steamer, 
together  with  a  man  he  called  Rale  —  Jack  Rale.  They 
locked  me  in  and  left  me  alone  until  after  dark.  Then 
this  other  man,  who  dressed  like  a  minister,  came  back 
with  Kirby.  They  had  food  and  something  to  drink  with 
them,  and  lit  a  lamp,  so  that  we  could  see.  It  was  awfully 
dismal  and  dark  in  there."  She  pressed  her  hands  to  her 


296  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

head  despairingly.  "I  can  remember  all  this,  but  later  it 
is  not  so  clear;  it  fades  out,  like  a  dream." 

"Try  to  tell  me  all  you  can,"  I  urged.  "They  fed 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  managed  to  eat  a  little,  but  I  would  not  drink. 
They  both  became  angry  then  and  frightened  me,  but 
they  did  compel  me  to  swallow  some  of  the  stuff. 
Then  I  became  dazed  and  partially  helpless.  Oh,  I  can 
not  tell  you;  I  do  not  really  know  myself — it  seemed  as 
though  I  had  to  do  just  what  they  told  me;  I  had  no  will 
of  my  own,  no  power  of  resistance." 

"You  were  married  to  Kirby." 

"Oh,  God!  —  was  I?  I  wondered;  I  did  not  really 
know ;  truly  I  did  not  know.  I  seem  to  remember  that  I 
stood  up,  and  then  signed  some  paper,  but  nothing  had 
any  meaning  to  me.  Is  that  true  ?  Do  you  know  that  it 
is  true?" 

I  grasped  her  hand  and  held  it  closely  within  my  own. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  true,"  I  answered.  "I  know  very  little 
law,  and  it  may  be  that  such  a  ceremony  is  not  legal.  Yet 
I  imagine  those  men  were  certain  as  to  what  they  could 
do.  Kirby  had  planned  to  marry  you  from  the  very  first, 
as  I  explained  to  you  before.  He  told  me  that  on  the 
Warrior  the  night  your  father  died." 

"Yes,  you  said  so;  but  I  did  not  quite  understand  —  he 
planned  then  —  why  ?" 

"Because  he  had  heard  of  your  beauty  and  that  you 
were  rich.  Were  these  not  reasons  enough?  But,  after 
he  had  mistaken  you  for  Rene,  the  only  possible  way  in 
which  he  could  hope  to  gain  you  was  by  force.  Jack  Rale 
suggested  that  to  him  and  how  it  could  be  done.  The 


ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP  297 

other  man  was  a  friend  of  Rale's,  a  renegade  preacher 

named  Gaskins;  he  is  dead." 
"Dead!    Killed ?" 
"Yes;  we  brought  you  away  after  a  fight  with  those 

fellows.    We  left  Rale  bound  and  Kirby  unconscious." 
"Unconscious,  hurt  —  but  not  dead?" 
"He  had  a  bad  gash  in  his  skull,  but  was  alive." 
Kennedy,  puffing  happily  upon  a  pipe,  came  loitering 

about  the  corner  of  the  hut  and  approached  us.     Eloise 

staggered  to  her  feet,  shrinking  back  against  the  wall  of 

the  shack,  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

"That  man  here!"  she  cried  in  terror.     "That  man! 

Why,  he  was  at  Beaucaire!    He  is  the  one  to  whom  I 

claimed  to  be  Rene." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WE  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE 

>TMM  grinned  at  me,  but  did  not  appear  particularly 
•*•  flattered  at  his  reception. 

"Not  quite  so  fast,  yung  lady,"  he  said,  stuttering  a  bit 
and  holding  the  pipe  in  his  hand.  "I  reckon  I  wus  thar 
all  right,  just  as  ye  say,  an'  thet  I  did  yer  a  mighty  mean 
turn,  but  I  ain't  such  a  dern  ornary  cuss  as  ye  think  — 
am  I,  Cap?" 

"No,  you  are  not,"  I  hastened  to  explain.  "Miss  Beau- 
caire  does  not  understand,  that  is  all.  We  have  been 
talking  together  for  some  time,  but  I  had  forgotten  to 
tell  her  that  you  were  one  of  her  rescuers.  Kennedy 
here,  merely  supposed  he  was  doing  his  duty,  until  he 
learned  what  Kirby  contemplated.  Then  he  refused  to 
have  any  hand  in  it  and  the  two  quarreled.  Shall  I  relate 
that  part  of  the  story?" 

Her  eyes  softened,  her  lips  almost  smiling. 

"Yes,"  she  said.    "I  am  glad  to  know;  tell  me  all." 

I  described  Tim's  part  in  the  whole  tragedy  swiftly, 
while  he  shifted  awkwardly  from  one  foot  to  the  other 
and  occasionally  interjected  some  comment  or  correction. 
He  was  not  wholly  at  ease  in  the  role  of  hero,  nor  under 
the  steadfast  gaze  of  her  eyes.  As  I  stopped  speaking 
she  held  out  her  hand  frankly. 

"Then  I  shall  count  you  my  friend  now,"  she  said 
simply.  "And  I  am  so  delighted  to  understand  every- 

298 


WE  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE  299 

thing.  There  are  four  of  us  here,  counting  the  mulatto 
girl,  and  we  are  in  hiding  not  far  from  Yellow  Banks. 
You  both  think  that  Kirby  and  Rale  must  be  hunting  us, 
already?" 

"Probably;  they  are  very  certain  not  to  be  very  far 
away.  I  was  planning  our  course  when  I  glanced  up 
and  caught  your  eyes  watching  me — " 

"And  I  —  I  thought  I  saw  a  ghost/'  she  interrupted. 
"And  then,  when  you  actually  spoke,  I  —  I  was  so 
glad." 

Tim's  eyes  fell  upon  the  map,  lying  outspread  on  the 
ground. 

"An'  whut  did  ye  think  wus  best,  Cap?"  he  inquired 
gravely.  4  'Tain't  likely  we  got  all  summer  ter  sit  'round 
yere  an'  talk  in.  I  reckon  we  done  rested  'bout  long 
'nough.  'Tain't  such  a  bad  place,  but  my  notion  is,  we 
ought  ter  be  joggin'  'long." 

"Mine  also.  Come  over  here,  both  of  you,  and 
I'll  give  you  my  idea.  1  figured  our  chances  in  this 
way." 

In  a  few  words  I  explained  my  choice  of  route,  point 
ing  it  out  on  the  map  and  telling  them  briefly  why  I  was 
afraid  to  seek  refuge  either  at  Fort  Madison  or  Fort 
Armstrong,  or,  indeed,  at  any  of  the  nearer  settlements. 
Eloise  said  nothing,  her  gaze  rising  from  the  map  to  our 
faces  as  we  debated  the  question,  for  Tim  spoke  his  mind 
freely,  his  stubby  forefinger  tracing  the  course  I  had 
indicated. 

"Thar's  a  trail  south  o'  yere  thet  leads  ter  a  town  called 
Ottaway,  an'  thar's  another  trail  north  o'  yere — Injun, 
I  reckon  —  whut  runs  straight  east.  ,Whar  we  are  is  plum 


300  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

in  atween  the  two  ov  'em,  but  it  looks  like  it  might  be 
gud  travelin'.  Enyhow,  thar  ain't  no  rivers  er  nuthin', 
so  f er  as  I  see.  What's  this  Ottaway,  enyhow  ?" 

"There  is  a  small  settlement  there  and  a  blockhouse. 
Possibly  there  are  other  settlements  between  here  and 
there,  not  on  the  map." 

"How  fer  do  yer  make  it — frum  this  place  ter 
thar?" 

"Well,  here  is  probably  the  stream  we  waded  up  last 
night  —  see.  I  should  say  we  must  be  about  where  I 
make  this  mark.  To  Ottawa  ?  1  will  make  a  guess  that 
it  is  a  bit  over  a  hundred  miles,  and  from  there  to  Chicago 
sixty  or  seventy  more.  Those  last  would  be  over  a  good 
trail." 

"An'  whar  do  yer  reckon  are  them  Injuns  —  the  hostile 
ones;  this  yere  bunch  o'  Black  Hawk's?" 

"Somewhere  up  Rock  River,  or  along  the  Green  Val 
ley,  rii  point  it  out  to  you  —  see;  there  is  where  Black 
Hawk  had  his  village  and  his  hunters  ranged  all  over  this 
country,  down  as  far  as  the  Illinois.  Of  course,  I  cannot 
tell  where  they  are  now,  for  that  depends  on  how  far  the 
soldiers  have  driven  them,  but  it  would  be  my  guess  they 
will  be  somewhere  in  here  —  between  Prophetstown 
and  the  Winnebago  Swamp." 

"Let's  see ;  thet  ain't  so  dern  fer  away  either.  I  reckon 
this  yere  course  ye've  just  picked  out  wudn't  take  us 
mor'n  twenty  mile  er  so  away.  'Spose  we'd  run  inter  a 
raidin'  party  o'  them  red  bucks.  I  ain't  got  much  hair, 
but  I  kin  use  whut  I  hav'  got." 

"I  am  not  sure,  Tim,  but  I  would  even  prefer  that  to 
being  overtaken  by  Joe  Kirby  and  the  gang  he'll  probably 


WE  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE 301 

have  with  him,"  I  retorted,  my  gaze  on  the  questioning 
face  of  the  girl.  "However,  there  is  little  chance  of  our 
encountering  such  a  party.  The  soldiers  are  all  coming 
up  from  the  south  and  are  bound  to  force  Black  Hawk's 
warriors  to  the  other  bank  of  the  Rock.  There  will  be 
nothing  but  barren  country  east  of  here.  What  do  you 
say,  Miss  Eloise?" 

Her  eyes  met  mine  bravely,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt 
in  them. 

"I  shall  go  wherever  you  say/'  she  replied  firmly,  "I 
believe  you  will  know  best." 

"Then  I  decide  on  this  route.  Once  we  get  beyond  the 
swamp,  those  fellows  are  going  to  have  a  hard  task  fol 
lowing  us,  unless  they  have  an  Indian  trailer  along  with 
them.  We  have  been  here  several  hours ;  the  horses  must 
be  rested.  Let's  eat  what  we  can  again  and  then  start 
We  must  find  a  way  out  of  this  labyrinth  while  we  have 
daylight." 

Kennedy  stood  up  and  stared  about  us  at  the  desolate 
scene,  the  expression  of  his  face  proving  his  dissatisfac 
tion  with  the  prospect. 

"O'  course,  I'm  a  goin'  'long  with  yer,  Cap,"  he 
acknowledged,  dryly.  "I  never  wus  no  quitter,  but  this 
yere  trip  don't  look  so  damned  easy  ter  me,  fer  all  thet. 
Howsumever  I  reckon  we'll  pull  through  som'how,  on 
fut,  er  hossback.  I'll  wake  up  thet  Clark  gurl  an'  then 
saddle  the  hosses." 

I  watched  him  round  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  not  wholly 
at  ease  in  my  own  mind,  then  gathered  up  the  map  and 
replaced  it  in  my  pocket,  aware  that  Eloise  had  not  moved 
from  her  position  on  the  grass. 


302  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

"Is  he  right?"  she  questioned,  looking  up  at  me,  "Is 
there  any  real  danger  of  Indians?" 

"Some,  perhaps;  it  is  all  Indian  country,  north  and 
east  of  here  —  or  has  been.  I  am  not  denying  that,  but 
this  danger  does  not  compare,  in  my  mind,  with  the  peril 
which  confronts  us  in  every  other  direction.  I  am  trying 
to  choose  the  least.  Our  greatest  difficulty  will  be  the 
lack  of  food  —  we  possess  no  guns  with  which  to  kill 
game,  only  pistols,  and  an  exceedingly  small  stock  of 
ammunition.  That  is  what  troubles  Tim;  that,  and  his 
eagerness  to  get  back  down  the  river.  He  fails  to  realize 
what  it  would  mean  to  you  to  fall  again  into  Kirby's 
hands." 

"Do  you  realize?" 

"Do  I  ?  It  is  the  one  memory  which  controls  me.  Tell 
me,  am  I  not  right?  No,  not  about  the  route,  but  about 
the  man.  You  despise  the  fellow ;  you  are  willing  to  face 
any  hardship  so  as  to  escape  him  ?" 

"I  would  rather  die  than  have  him  touch  me.  I  never 
knew  the  meaning  of  hate  before.  Surely  you  cannot 
deem  it  possible  that  I  could  ever  forgive?" 

x  "No ;  that  would  be  hard  to  conceive ;  and  yet,  I  wished 
to  hear  the  words  from  your  own  lips.  Will  you  answer 
me  one  thing  more  —  why  did  you  first  assume  the  char 
acter  of  Rene,  and  why  did  you  repose  such  instant  trust 
in  me?" 

She  smiled  rather  wistfully,  her  long  lashes  concealing 
her  eyes. 

"I  think  I  myself  hardly  knew,"  she  admitted  timidly. 
"It  all  happened,  was  born  of  impulse,  rather  than  through 
any  plan.  Perhaps  it  was  just  the  woman  in  me.  After 


WE  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE  303 

my  father  died,  Delia  thought  it  best  to  tell  us  the  story 
of  Rene's  birth.  This — this  was  such  a  terrible  tale,  and 
later  we  sought  all  through  his  private  papers,  hoping  he 
had  taken  some  action  to  set  those  two  free.  There  was 
no  proof  that  he  had,  no  mention,  indeed,  except  a  memo 
randum  of  intention  to  refer  the  matter  to  Lawyer  Haines 
at  the  Landing.  This  merely  served  to  confirm  what 
Delia  had  told  us,  and,  as  Haines  had  gone  to  St.  Louis, 
we  were  unable  to  see  him.  We  were  all  of  us  nearly 
crazed;  I  was  even  afraid  Rene  would  throw  herself  into 
the  river.  So  I  suggested  that  we  run  away  and  drew 
money  out  of  my  private  account  for  that  purpose.  My 
only  thought  was  to  take  a  steamer  up  the  Ohio,  to  some 
place  where  we  were  not  known,  and  begin  life  over  again. 
Rene  had  been  a  sister  to  me  always ;  we  were  playmates 
from  childhood,  and  I  had  grown  up  loving  and  trusting 
Delia  ever  since  I  was  a  baby.  No  sacrifice  was  too  great 
to  prevent  their  being  sold  into  slavery.  Oh,  you  cannot 
understand  —  I  had  no  mind  left;  only  a  blind  impulse 
to  save  them." 

I  caught  her  hand  in  mine  and  held  it  firmly. 

"Perhaps  I  do  understand.  It  was  my  knowledge  of 
this  very  condition  which  first  brought  me  to  you." 

"You  heard  about  us  on  the  boat  —  the  Warrior?  Did 
father  tell  you?" 

"No;  it  was  Kirby.  He  was  actually  proud  of  what 
he  had  done  —  boasted  to  me  of  his  success.  I  have  never 
known  a  man  so  heartlessly  conceited.  Eloise,  listen. 
You  may  have  thought  this  was  largely  an  accident.  It- 
was  not ;  it  was  a  deliberately  planned,  cold-blooded  plot. 
I  tell  you  that  Joe  Kirby  is  of  the  devil's  own  breed;  he 


304  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

is  not  human.  Rene's  father  told  him  first  of  the  peculiar 
conditions  at  Beaucaire." 

"Rene's  father!    Does  — does  he  still  live?" 

"No;  but  he  did  live  for  years  after  he  disappeared, 
supporting  himself  by  gambling  on  the  lower  river.  At 
one  time  he  and  Kirby  were  together.  After  he  died 
Kirby  investigated  his  story  in  St.  Louis  and  found  that 
it  was  true.  Then  he  laid  this  plot  to  gain  control  of 
everything,  including  both  of  you  girls  —  a  plot  surely 
hatched  in  hell." 

"You  know  this  to  be  true  ?    How  ?" 

"Partly,  as  I  have  said,  from  Kirby's  own  lips.  In 
addition  Jack  Rale  added  what  he  knew- — they  are  birds 
of  a  feather." 

"But  it  seems  so  impossible,  so  like  fiction.  How  could 
the  man  hope  to  succeed;  to  consummate  such  a  crime? 
Besides,  why  should  he  desire  us  —  Rene  and  I  —  whom 
he  had  never  seen?" 

"It  can  only  be  explained  when  you  know  the  man. 
He  had  heard  you  described  as  a  beautiful  woman  —  that 
was  enough  for  his  type.  He  had  convinced  himself 
that  Rene  was  a  slave  —  his  slave,  once  he  had  success 
fully  played  his  trick.  He  knew  you  to  be  an  heiress, 
with  a  sum  of  money  in  your  own  right,  which  he  could 
only  hope  to  touch  through  marriage.  The  man  dreamed 
of  owning  Beaucaire,  of  possessing  all  it  contained.  He 
was  willing  to  risk  everything  to  carry  out  his  hell-born 
scheme,  and  to  ruin  everyone  who  interfered  with  him. 
I  am  telling  you  all  this,  Eloise,  because  it  is  now  time  you 
should  know.  Will  you  not  tell  me  just  how  it  all  came 
to  you?" 


IV E  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE  305 

Her  hands  clung  to  me,  as  though  she  dare  not  let  go ; 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  a  mingling  of  wonderment  and 
pain. 

"Why,  of  course.  We  thought  it  best  not  to  go  until 
after  we  could  see  the  lawyer.  I  .could  not  believe  my 
father  had  neglected  to  set  those  two  free  —  he  —  he 
loved  them  both.  Delia  and  Rene  had  gone  down  to  the 
Landing  that  night  to  see  if  he  had  returned.  We  were 
both  of  us  afraid  to  leave  Rene  alone  —  she  was  so 
despondent,  so  unstrung.  It  was  dark  and  I  was  all  alone 
in  the  house.  Then  these  men  came.  They  did  not  know 
me  and  I  did  not  know  them,  but  I  was  sure  what  they 
came  for.  I  was  terribly  frightened,  without  an  idea 
what  to  do  —  only  I  refused  to  talk.  All  I  could  do  was 
to  pray  that  the  others  might  be  warned  and  not  return. 
They  searched  the  house  and  then  left  this  man  Tim  to 
guard  me.  He  told  me  he  was  a  deputy  sheriff  from  St. 
Louis,  and  —  and  I  encouraged  him  to  explain  all  he 
knew  about  the  case.  Then  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to 
do  —  I  would  pretend  to  be  Rene,  and  let  them  carry  me 
off  instead  of  her." 

"But  did  you  not  realize  the  danger  to  yourself?" 

"No,  I  suppose  I  didn't;  or  rather  I  did  not  care.  All 
I  thought  about  was  how  to  save  her.  These  were  law 
officers;  they  would  take  me  to  St.  Louis  before  a  court. 
Then  I  could  make  myself  known  and  would  be  set  free. 
They  couldn't  do  anything  else,  could  they?  There  was 
no  law  by  which  I  could  be  held,  but  —  but,  don't  you 
see?  The  delay  might  give  Rene  time  to  escape.  That 
was  not  wrong,  was  it  ?" 

"Wrong!     It  was  one  of  the  bravest  things  I  ever 


306  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

heard  of.  And  I  know  the  rest — your  encounter  with 
Kirby  in  the  library.  I  overheard  all  of  that  through  the 
open  window,  and  how  you  learned  from  him  that  certain 
legal  papers  would  have  to  be  served  on  Eloise  Beaucaire 
before  any  of  the  slaves  could  be  touched,  or  removed 
from  the  estate.  That  knowledge  only  brought  you  new 
courage  to  play  out  your  part.  But  why  did  you  trust 
me  enough  to  go  with  me?  And,  after  trusting  me  so 
fully,  why  did  you  refuse  to  tell  me  who  you  really  were  ?" 

Her  eyes  fell  before  mine,  and  her  cheeks  were  flushed. 

"I  —  I  do  not  believe  I  can  tell  you  that,  Lieutenant. 
You  —  you  see  I  am  not  even  sure  I  know.  At  first,  there 
in  the  library,  I  was  compelled  to  choose  instantly  between 
you,  and  —  and  something  infinitely  worse.  I  —  I  sup 
posed  that  man  Kirby  was  dead;  that  —  that  you  had 
killed  him  to  save  me.  I  —  I  looked  into  your  face,  and 
—  and  it  was  a  man's  face;  you  said  you  were  an  army 
officer.  I  —  I  had  to  believe  and  trust  you.  There  was 
no  other  way.  Please  do  not  ask  me  to  explain  any 


more." 


"I  shall  not  —  only  just  this.  If  you  actually  believed 
in  me,  trusted  me,  as  you  say,  why  should  you  still  claim 
to  be  Rene;  and  continually  remind  me  there  was  negro 
blood  in  your  veins ;  that  you  were  a  negress  and  a  slave  ?" 

"You  think  that  strange  ?  I  did  trust  you,  Lieutenant 
Knox,  and  I  trusted  you  more  completely  the  longer  we 
were  together.  But  —  but  I  did  not  wholly  understand. 
You  were  endeavoring  to  rescue  Rene  from  slavery.  I 
could  not  conceive  what  interest  you  might  feel  if  I  should 
confess  myself  Eloise.  You  were  strange  to  me ;  we  were 
there  alone  with  the  negro,  and  —  and  somehow  it  seemed 


WE  CHOOSE  OUR  COURSE  307 

a  protection  to  me  to  claim  a  drop  of  black  blood.  Twice 
I  thought  to  tell  you  —  the  words  were  on  my  lips- — but 
something  stopped  them.  Possibly,  just  a  little,  I  was 
afraid  of  you." 

'Then  —  but  not  now?" 

"No,  not  now  —  not  even  a  little;  you  have  proven 
yourself  all  I  ever  hoped  you  would  be.  I  am  glad  —  so 
glad  —  to  say  to  you  now,  I  am  Eloise  Beau — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  the  word  half  uttered,  the  smile 
fading  from  her  lips.  She  withdrew  her  hands  from  my 
clasp  and  pressed  them  over  her  eyes. 

"My  God!"  she  burst  forth.  "But  I  am  not!  I  am 
not!  Why,  I  never  felt  the  horror  of  it  all  before  —  I 
am  not  Eloise  Beaucaire!" 

A  moment  I  stood  motionless,  seeming  to  hold  my 
breath,  my  eyes  open,  struck  silent  by  the  intense  bitter 
ness  of  that  cry.  Then  the  reaction  came,  the  knowledge 
that  I  must  turn  her  thought  elsewhere. 

"Do  not  say  that,  or  even  think  it,"  I  urged,  scarcely 
able  to  restrain  myself  from  grasping  her  in  my  arms. 
"Even  if  it  shall  prove  true  —  legally  true  —  some  way  of 
escape  will  be  found.  The  others  are  safe,  and  you  are 
going  to  need  all  your  courage.  Pledge  me  to  forget, 
to  ignore  this  thing.  I  need  you." 

Her  hands  fell  nerveless  and  her  questioning  eyes 
sought  my  face.  They  were  tearless,  unabashed. 

"You  are  right,  Lieutenant  Knox,"  she  said  frankly. 
"I  owe  my  loyalty  now  to  you.  I  shall  not  yield  again  to 
despair ;  you  may  trust  me  —  my  friend." 

The  day  was  not  yet  ended  when  we  finally  retraced 
our  way  across  the  narrow  dyke  to  the  mainland,  pre- 


308 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

pared  to  resume  our  journey.  The  passage  was  slow  and 
dangerous,  and  we  made  it  on  foot,  leading  the  horses. 
The  woods  were  already  beginning  to  darken  as  we  forded 
the  north  branch  of  the  creek,  and  came  forth  through  a 
fringe  of  forest  trees  into  a  country  of  rolling  hills  and 
narrow  valleys.  The  two  girls  were  already  mounted, 
and  Tim  and  I  were  busily  tightening  the  straps  for  a 
night's  ride,  when,  from  behind  us,  back  in  the  direction 
of  the  peninsula  we  had  just  quitted,  there  sounded  the 
sharp  report  of  a  rifle.  We  straightened  up,  startled,  and 
our  eyes  met.  There  could  be  but  one  conclusion  —  our 
pursuers  had  found  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  FIELD  OF   MASSACRE 

/"TAO  MY  mind,  seated  on  that  island  in  the  morass,  a 
•*•  map  spread  before  me,  a  hundred  miles  of  travel 
had  not  appeared  a  very  serious  matter,  but  I  was  destined 
to  learn  my  mistake.  The  close  proximity  of  the  men 
seeking  to  overtake  us  —  as  evidenced  by  that  rifle  shot  — 
awoke  within  us  a  sense  of  imminent  danger  and  drove 
us  forward  through  the  fast  gathering  darkness  at  a 
perilous  pace,  especially  as  our  mounts  were  not  of  the 
best.  The  fringe  of  trees  along  the  bank  of  the  stream 
was  sufficiently  thick  to  securely  screen  our  movements 
until  we  had  safely  merged  into  the  darkness  beyond,  nor 
could  our  trail  be  followed  before  daylight.  Yet  the 
desire  was  in  all  of  our  hearts  to  cover  as  much  ground 
as  possible.  The  available  course  lay  across  rough  coun 
try,  along  steep  sidehills,  and  into  stagnant  sloughs. 
Twice  we  mired  through  carelessness,  and  several  times 
were  obliged  to  skirt  the  edge  of  marshes  for  considerable 
distances,  before  discovering  a  safe  passage  beyond.  The 
night  shut  about  us  black,  and  discouraging,  with  scarcely 
a  star  visible  in  the  sky,  by  which  we  could  determine 
our  direction.  I  was  quickly  lost  in  this  blind  groping, 
unable  to  even  guess  the  points  of  the  compass,  but  Tim 
apparently  possessed  the  mysterious  instinct  of  the  path 
finder,  although  what  dim  signs  guided  him  I  could  not 
decipher.  To  me  it  was  all  chance ;  while  he  kept  steadily 

300 


310  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

moving,  occasionally  relieving  his  feelings  by  an  oath,  but 
never  hesitating  for  longer  than  a  moment. 

We  became  mere  shadows,  groping  through  the  void, 
barely  perceptible  to  our  own  strained  eyes.  Now  and 
then  we  drifted  apart,  and  were  obliged  to  call  out  so  as 
to  locate  the  others.  We  seemed  to  be  traveling  across 
a  deserted,  noiseless  land,  the  only  sound  the  stumbling 
hoofs  of  the  horses,  or  the  occasional  tinkle  of  some  near 
by  stream,  invisible  in  the  darkness.  Kennedy  led  the  way, 
after  I  had  confessed  my  inability  to  do  so,  and,  I  think, 
must  have  remained  afoot  most  of  the  time,  judging 
from  the  sound  of  his  voice,  advising  us  of  the  pitfalls 
ahead.  It  was  some  hours  before  we  finally  emerged 
from  this  broken  land,  and  came  forth  onto  a  dry,  rolling 
prairie,  across  which  we  advanced  at  a  somewhat  swifter 
gait.  In  all  this  time  I  had  never  relaxed  my  grip  on 
the  bridle-rein  of  Eloise's  horse,  drawing  her  up  close 
beside  me,  whenever  the  way  permitted,  conscious  that 
she  must  feel,  even  as  I  did,  the  terrible  loneliness  of  our 
surroundings,  and  the  strain  of  this  slow  groping  through 
the  unknown.  We  conversed  but  little,  and  then  in  whis 
pers,  and  of  inconsequential  things  —  of  hope  and  fear, 
even  of  literature  and  music,  of  anything  which  would 
take  our  minds  off  our  present  situation.  I  smiled  after 
wards  to  remember  the  strange  topics  wrhich  came  up 
between  us  in  the  midst  of  that  gloom.  And  yet,  in  some 
vague  way,  I  comprehended  that  amid  the  silence,  the 
effort  to  converse,  a  bond  was  strengthening  between  us 
both  —  a  bond  needing  no  words.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  could  feel  the  beating  of  her  heart  in  response  to  my 
own;  and  that  while  to  my  eyes  she  was  but  a  mere  out- 


A  FIELD  OF  MASSACRE 311 

line,  her  features  invisible,  in  imagination  I  looked  into 
that  face  again,  and  dreamed  dreams  the  lips  dared 
not  express. 

Surely  we  both  understood.  Even  as  I  knew  my  own 
heart,  I  believed  that  I  knew  hers.  I  do  not  think  she 
cared  then  to  conceal,  or  deny;  but,  nevertheless,  there 
existed  continually  between  us  a  sinister  face,  a  leering, 
sarcastic  face,  with  thin  lips  and  sneering  eyes  forever 
mocking — the  hateful  face  of  Joe  Kirby.  It  was  there 
before  me  through  all  those  hours,  and  I  doubt  not  it 
mocked  her  with  equal  persistency.  Whenever  I  would 
speak,  that  memory  locked  my  lips,  so  that  all  I  ventured 
upon  was  to  quietly  reach  out  my  hand  through  the  dark 
ness,  and  touch  hers.  Yet  that  was  enough,  for  I  felt 
her  fingers  close  on  mine  in  silent  welcome. 

Yet,  perhaps,  I  ought  not  to  say  that  it  was  any  mem 
ory  of  the  gambler  which  held  me  dumb.  For  it  was  not 
thought  of  the  man,  but  rather  of  the  woman,  whose 
honor  I  felt  bound  to  guard  by  closed  lips.  Some  instinct 
of  my  own  higher  nature,  or  some  voiceless  message 
from  her  personality,  told  me  the  line  of  safety  —  told  me 
that  she  would  secretly  resent  any  familiarity  she  was 
not  free  to  welcome.  She  might  ride  through  the  black 
night  beside  me,  our  hands  clasped  in  friendship,  our 
hearts  thrilling  with  hope.  We  could  understand,  could 
dream  the  dream  of  ages  together  —  and  yet,  this  was 
not  now  to  be  expressed  in  words;  and  there  must  still 
remain  between  us  a  barrier  blacker  than  the  night.  She 
needed  not  to  tell  me  this  truth  —  I  felt  it;  felt  it  in  the 
purity  of  her  soul,  her  silence,  her  perfect  trust  in  me. 
For  this  I  knew,  then  and  forever  —  only  by  respect  could 


312  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

I  win  the  love  of  her.  This  knowledge  was  restraint 
enough. 

We  rested  for  an  hour  at  midnight,  on  the  banks  of  a 
small  stream.  The  sky  had  lightened  somewhat,  and  we 
could  perceive  the  way  fairly  well  when  we  again  ad 
vanced,  now  traveling  through  a  more  open  country,  a 
prairie,  interspersed  with  groves  of  trees.  Daylight  over 
took  us  at  the  edge  of  a  slough,  which  bo-rdered  a  little 
lake,  where  in  the  gray  dawn,  Tim,  by  a  lucky  shot,  man 
aged  to  kill  a  crippled  duck,  which  later  furnished  us  with 
a  meager  breakfast.  In  the  security  of  a  near-by  cluster 
of  trees,  we  ventured  to  build  a  fire,  and,  sitting  about  it, 
discussed  whether  to  remain  there,  or  press  on.  It  was  an 
ideal  spot  for  a  camp,  elevated  enough  to  afford  a  wide 
viewr  in  every  direction.  No  one  could  approach  unseen, 
and  thus  far  we  had  no  evidence  that  our  pursuers  were 
even  on  our  trail.  Only  the  crack  of  that  single  rifle  shot 
the  evening  before  had  suggested  that  we  were  being  fol 
lowed —  yet,  even  if  this  were  true,  the  black  hours  since 
would  have  prevented  any  discovery  of  the  direction  of 
our  flight.  Not  even  an  Indian  tracker  cauld  have  picked 
up  our  trail  amid  that  darkness.  So  it  was  decided  to 
remain  where  we  were,  and  rest. 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  details  of  our  flight.  They  re 
main  in  my  memory  in  all  clearness,  each  scene  distinct, 
each  incident  a  picture  engraved  on  the  mind.  I  came  to 
believe  in,  implicitly  rely  on,  all  my  comrades  —  on  the 
black-eyed,  dusky  Elsie,  emotional  and  efficient,  whose 
care-free  laugh  was  contagious,  and  whose  marvelous 
skill  in  cooking  only  increased  our  hunger,  who  knew 
every  wild  plant  that  grew,  and  unearthed  many  a  treas- 


A  FIELD  OF  MASSACRE  313 

tire  to  help  out  our  slim  larder  from  the  forest  and  prairie 
soil ;  on  the  solemn- faced  Kennedy,  whose  profanity  could 
not  be  restrained,  and  whose  sole  happiness  was  found  in 
an  ample  supply  of  tobacco;  who  persistently  saw  only 
the  dark  side  of  things,  yet  who  was  ever  competent,  tire 
less,  and  full  of  resource;  but  most  of  all  on  Eloise,  her 
patient,  trustful  eyes  following  my  every  movement,  un 
complaining,  cheerful,  with  a  smile  for  every  hardship, 
a  bright  word  of  hope  for  every  obstacle.  In  the  darkness 
of  night  travel,  when  no  eye  could  see  her,  she  might 
droop  from  weariness,  clinging  to  her  pommel  to  keep 
in  the  saddle,  yet  it  was  always  her  voice  which  revived 
courage,  and  inspired  new  endeavor. 

The  way  was  generally  rough  and  puzzling,  bringing 
before  us  no  familiar  landmarks  by  which  to  guide  our 
course.  My  map  proved  utterly  useless,  confusing  me  by 
its  wrong  location  of  streams,  and  its  inaccuracy  in  the 
estimation  of  distances.  We  must  have  wandered  far  to 
the  north  from  our  direct  course,  led  astray  in  the  dark, 
and  by  our  desire  to  advance  swiftly.  For  there  soon 
came  to  us  warning  signs  that  we  were  indeed  being  pur 
sued;  and  some  evidence  also  that  we  were  even  within 
Indian  territory.  Once  we  beheld  from  an  eminence  the 
wisp  of  a  camp  fire  far  in  our  rear,  a  mere  misty  curl  of 
smoke  showing  against  the  distant  blue  of  the  sky.  And 
once,  from  out  the  shadow  of  a  grove,  we  stared  per 
plexed  across  a  wide  valley,  to  where  appeared  a  dim  out 
line  of  bluffs,  and  watched  a  party  of  five  horsemen  creep 
slowly  along  their  summit,  too  far  away  to  be  recognized 
—  mere  black  dots,  we  could  not  identify  as  either  white 
men,  or  red 


314  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

But  the  savages  had  left  their  unmistakable  mark  for 
our  finding.  It  was  in  the  early  twilight  of  the  second 
day,  the  western  sky  already  purple  with  the  last  fading 
colors,  the  prairie  before  us  showing  in  patches  of  green 
and  brown.  To  our  left  was  a  thick  wood,  even  then 
grown  gloomy  and  dark  in  shadows,  and  slightly  in  ad 
vance  of  us  Kennedy  rode  alone,  hopeful  of  thus  dislodg 
ing  some  wild  animal.  I  could  see  the  gleam  of  the  pistol 
in  his  hand,  held  in  instant  readiness,  cocked  and  primed. 
Suddenly  he  drew  rein,  and  then,  turning  his  horse's  head 
sharply,  advanced  cautiously  toward  the  miniature  forest, 
leaning  forward  to  gaze  intently  at  something  unseen 
from  where  we  were.  I  halted  the  others  in  a  thrill  of 
expectancy,  anticipating  the  report  of  his  weapon,  and 
hopeful  of  a  successful  shot.  He  halted  his  horse,  which 
pawed  restlessly,  and  sat  motionless,  staring  down  into 
a  little  hollow  immediately  in  front  of  him ;  then  he  turned 
in  the  saddle,  and  beckoned  me. 

"Cum  over  yere,  Cap,"  he  called,  his  voice  sounding 
strange.  "No,  not  the  gurls;  you  cum  alone." 

I  rode  forward  and  joined  him,  only  to  stare  also,  the 
heart  within  me  almost  ceasing  to  beat,  as  I  beheld  the 
gruesome  sight  so  suddenly  revealed.  There,  within  the 
confines  of  that  little  hollow,  almost  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  lay  the  dead  and  mutilated  bodies  of  eleven  men, 
in  every  distorted  posture  imaginable,  some  stripped 
naked,  and  showing  ghastly  wounds ;  others  fully  clothed ; 
but  with  the  cloth  hacked  into  rags.  It  had  once  been  a 
camp,  the  black  coals  of  a  fire  still  visible,  with  one  man 
lying  across  them,  his  face  burnt  and  unrecognizable. 
With  the  exception  of  one  only  —  a  mere  boy,  who  lay  a 


A  FIELD  OF  MASSACRE 315 

few  rods  away,  as  though  brought  down  in  flight  —  the 
entire  group  were  together,  almost  touching  each  other 
in  death.  Beyond  question  they  had  been  soldiers  — 
militia  volunteers  —  for  while  there  was  only  one  uniform 
among  them,  they  all  wore  army  belts,  and  a  service  insig 
nia  appeared  on  their  hats.  Tim  vented  his  feelings  in  a 
smothered  oath. 

"Militia,  by  God!"  he  muttered  gruffly.  "No  guard 
set;  the  bloody  Injuns  jumped  'em  frum  out  them  woods. 
Those  poor  devils  never  hed  no  chanct.  Ain't  thet  it, 
Cap?" 

"No  doubt  of  it;  the  whole  story  is  there.  None  of 
them  alive?" 

"I  reckon  not  —  cudn't  be  hacked  up  like  thet,  an'  most 
o'  'em  skelped.  Them  reds  never  left  a  damn  gun  behind 
neither.  Why  say,  this  affair  must  a  took  place  this 
yere  very  maunin',  'bout  breakfast  time." 

He  stood  up  in  his  stirrups,  and  swept  his  eyes  anxiously 
about  in  every  direction. 

"Good  Lord!  maybe  we  better  be  gittin'  'long  out  o' 
yere  right  smart.  Thar  ain't  nuthin'  ter  stay  f  er ;  we  can't 
help  them  ded  men  none,  an'  only  the  devil  himself  knows 
whar  them  Injuns  havj  gone.  Yer  git  the  gurls  away 
afore  they  see  whut's  yere  —  down  yonder,  inter  the 
valley." 

I  took  one  more  glance  at  the  sight,  fascinated  by  its 
very  horror,  then  wheeled  my  terrified  horse,  and  rode 
back.  Heartless  as  his  words  sounded,  they  were  never 
theless  true.  We  could  be  of  no  aid  to  the  dead,  while 
upon  us  yet  rested  the  duty  of  guarding  the  living.  The 
young  negress  lifted  her  head,  and  gazed  at  me  dully,  so 


316  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

thoroughly  tired  as  to  be  indifferent  as  to  what  had  oc 
curred;  but  Eloise  read  instantly  the  message  of  my  face. 

"You  have  looked  upon  something  terrible,"  she  cried. 
"What  was  it?  a  dead  body?" 

"Eleven  dead  bodies,"  I  answered  gravely,  my  lips 
trembling.  "A  squad  of  militiamen  were  surprised  by 
Indians  over  there,  and  slaughtered  to  a  man,  apparently 
with  no  chance  to  even  defend  themselves.  I  have  never 
seen  a  more  terrible  sight." 

"Indians,  you  say!  Here?"  her  eyes  widening  in  hor 
ror.  "When  do  you  suppose  this  happened?  how  long 
ago?" 

"Within  twelve  hours  certainly;  probably  soon  after 
dawn.  The  attack  must  have  been  made  while  the  soldiers 
were  at  breakfast." 

"Then  —  then  those  Indians  cannot  be  far  away?" 

"We  have  no  means  of  knowing;  but  it  will  be  assuredly 
safer  for  us  to  get  under  cover.  Come,  both  of  you." 

"They  were  all  killed  —  all  of  them?    You  are  sure?" 

"Yes;  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  among  them  to 
be  alive  —  the  bodies  were  scalped,  and  mutilated." 

I  caught  the  rein  of  her  horse,  and  Elsie,  who  was  now 
wide  awake,  and  trembling  with  fear,  pressed  forward, 
close  to  my  other  side,  moaning  and  casting  her  frightened 
glances  backward.  Kennedy  was  already  started  in  ad 
vance  of  us  on  foot,  leading  his  animal,  and  seeking  to 
discover  the  quickest  passage  to  shelter.  The  valley  be 
low  was  a  deep  and  pleasant  one,  writh  sides  forest  clad, 
and  so  thickly  timbered  we  were  almost  immediately  con 
cealed  the  moment  we  began  the  descent.  On  a  narrow 
terrace  the  deputy  halted  us. 


A  FIELD  OF  MASSACRE 317 

"I  reckon  maybe  this  yere  is  as  gud  as  eny  place  fer  ter 
stop,"  he  said  rather  doubtfully.  "Thar  ain't  noboddy 
kin  see  us,  nohow,  an'  thar's  a  gud  spring  over  yonder. 
It'll  be  mighty  dark  in  an  hour,  an'  then  we  kin  go  on ; 
only  my  hoss  is  about  did  up.  Whut  ye  say,  Cap  ?" 

"We  are  probably  as  safe  here  as  anywhere  in  the 
neighborhood.  Let  me  help  you  down,  Eloise.  Is  that 
all  you  have  to  report,  Tim?" 

He  lifted  his  hat,  and  scratched  gently  his  thin  hair. 

"Only  thet  them  Injuns  went  south.  I  done  run  onto 
their  trail  after  yer  left  —  it  wus  plain  as  the  nose  on  yer 
face.  Thar  must'r  bin  a  slew  o'  'em,  an'  sum  a  hoss-back ; 
they  wus  a  strikin'  straight  across  yonder,  an'  I  reckon 
they  fetched  a  prisoner  'long,  sumbody  wearin'  boots  eny- 
how,  fer  I  saw  the  tracks  in  the  mud/' 

"Poor  fellow.  We'll  not  remain  here,  Kennedy,  only 
to  rest  for  an  hour,  or  two.  WV11  not  risk  a  fire." 

"Sure  not  —  ain't  got  nuthin'  ter  cook,  enyhow."  He 
hesitated,  as  though  something  was  on  his  mind,  glancing 
toward  the  girls,  and  lowering  his  voice.  "I  ain't  so  very 
dern  tired,  an'  reckon  I'll  scout  'round  a  bit.  Them  red 
devils  might'r  overlooked  a  rifle  er  two  back  thar  in  the 
timber,  an'  I'd  sure  like  ter  git  my  fingers  on  one." 

I  nodded  indifferently,  too  completely  exhausted  my 
self  to  care  what  he  did,  and  then  dull-eyed  watched  him 
disappear  through  the  trees.  No  one  spoke,  even  Eloise 
failing  to  question  me,  as  I  approached  where  she  and 
Elsie  had  flung  themselves  on  the  short  grass,  although 
her  heavy  eyes  followed  my  movement,  and  she  made  an 
effort  to  smile. 

"One  can  easily  see  by  your  face  how  tired  you  are," 


318  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

I  said,  compassionately,  looking  kindly  down  at  her.  "I 
am  going  to  sleep  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  you  had  both 
better  do  the  same.  Tim  is  going  to  keep  guard." 

She  smiled  wearily  at  me,  her  head  sinking  back.  I  did 
not  move,  or  speak  again ;  indeed  I  had  lost  consciousness 
almost  before  I  touched  the  ground. 

I  could  not  have  slept  long,  for  there  was  a  glow  of 
light  still  visible  in  the  western  sky,  when  a  strong  grip 
on  my  arm  aroused  me,  causing  me  instantly  to  sit  up. 
Tim  stood  there,  a  battered,  old,  long  rifle  in  his  hand, 
and  beside  him  a  boy  of  eighteen,  without  a  hat,  tousled 
headed,  with  an  ugly  red  wound  showing  on  one  cheek. 

"Mighty  sorry  fer  ter  wake  ye,  Cap,"  the  deputy 
grinned.  "This  yere  young  chap  is  one  o'  them  sojers; 
an'  it  strikes  me,  he's  got  a  damn  queer  tale  ter  tell." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU 

T  GLANCED  backward  across  my  shoulder  toward  the 
•••  others.  Both  girls  were  sleeping  soundly,  while  be 
yond  them,  down  the  slope,  the  three  horses  were  quietly 
cropping  away  at  the  herbage.  I  managed  to  rise. 

*  'Let's  move  back  to  the  spring,  where  we  will  not  wake 
them  up/'  I  suggested.  "Now  we  can  talk." 

My  eyes  sought  the  face  of  the  lad  questioningly.  He 
was  a  loose-lipped,  awkward  lout,  trembling  still  from  a 
fright  he  could  not  conceal. 

"You  belonged  to  that  squad  killed  out  yonder?" 

"Yes,  seh ;  I  reckon  I'se  the  only  one  whut  ain't  ded," 
he  stammered,  so  tougue-tied  I  could  scarcely  make  out 
his  words.  "I  wus  gone  after  wahter,  an'  when  them 
Injuns  begun  fer  ter  yell,  I  never  dun  nuthin'  but  just 
run,  an'  hid  in  the  bush." 

"But  you  are  wounded  ?" 

He  put  a  red  hand  to  his  face,  touching  it  gingerly. 

"I  dun  got  racked  with  a  branch;  I  wus  thet  skeered 
I  just  cudn't  see  nuthin',  seh." 

"I  understand.     What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Asa  Hall." 

"Well,  Asa,  I  suppose  those  were  militiamen;  you  be 
longed  to  the  company?" 

He  nodded,  his  eyes  dull,  his  lips  moving,  as  though 
it  was  an  effort  to  talk.  Quite  evidently  whatever  little 

319 


320  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

intellect  he  had  ever  possessed,  now  refused  to  respond. 
Kennedy  broke  in  impatiently. 

"It  takes  thet  boy  'bout  an  hour  fer  ter  tell  enything, 
Cap,"  he  explained  gruffly.  "I  reckon  he's  skeered  half 
ter  death  in  the  furst  place,  an'  then  thar's  sumthin' 
wrong  writh  him  enyhow.  Maybe  I  kin  give  ye  the  main 
pints.  Them  thar  fellers  belonged  ter  Cap.  Hough's  com 
pany  frum  down  Edwardsville  way  —  greener  then  grass, 
most  ov  'em.  They'd  cum  up  frum  sumwhar  on  the 
Illinoy,  an'  wus  a  headin'  fer  Dixon.  Never  onct  thought 
thar  might  be  Injuns  down  yere,  an'  never  kept  no  guard. 
Them  Injuns  jumped  'em  at  daybreak,  an'  not  a  soul  knew 
they  wus  thar,  till  they  yelled.  'Twan't  no  fight,  just  a 
massacre.  This  feller  he  got  away,  just  as  he  sed  he  did, 
by  a  hidin'  in  the  bush.  I  reckon  he  wan't  even  seed  at  all, 
but  he  wus  so  blame  close  thet  he  heerd  'bout  all  thet  went 
on,  an'  even  seed  a  bit  ov  it.  Lord !  I  hed  ter  poke  him 
out;  he  wus  thet  skeered  he  cudn't  stand." 

"Wai,  I  reckon  yer'd  a  bin  too,"  the  boy  stuttered 
angrily.  "I  ain't  never  seed  no  Injuns  afore." 

"An'  don't  wanter  ever  see  no  more,  I  reckon.  Hell ! 
I  don't  hanker  after  eny  myself.  Howsumever,  it's  whut 
he  seed  an'  heerd,  Cap,  thet  sounds  mighty  queer  ter  me. 
He  sez  thar  wus  mor'n  fifty  bucks  in  thet  party,  an'  that 
ol'  Black  Hawk  wus  thar  hisself,  a  leadin'  'em — he  done 
saw  him." 

I  turned,  surprised  at  this  statement,  to  stare  into  the 
boy's  face.  He  half  grinned  back  at  me,  vacantly. 

"Black  Hawk!  He  could  scarcely  be  down  here;  what 
did  he  look  like?" 

"  'Bout  six  feet  high,  I  reckon,  with  a  big  hooked  nose, 


VALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU 


an'  the  blackest  pair  o'  mean  eyes  ever  yer  saw.  I  reckon 
he  didn't  hav'  no  eyebrows,  an'  he  wore  a  bunch  o'  eagle 
feathers,  an'  a  red  blanket.  Gosh'  Mister,  but  the  Devil 
cudn't  look  no  worse'n  he  did." 

"Wus  thet  him,  Cap?"  burst  in  Tim,  anxiously. 

"It's  not  a  bad  description,"  I  admitted,  yet  not  con 
vinced.  "I  can't  believe  he  would  be  here  with  a  raiding 
party.  If  he  was,  there  must  be  some  important  object  in 
view.  Is  that  all  ?" 

"No,  'tain't  ;  the  boy  swears  thar  was  a  white  man  'long 
with  'em,  a  feller  with  a  short  moustache,  an'  dressed  in 
store  clothes.  He  wan't  no  prisoner  nuther,  but  hed  a 
gun,  an'  talked  ter  Black  Hawk,  most  like  he  wus  a  chief 
hisself.  After  the  killin'  wus  all  over,  he  wus  the  one  whut 
got  'em  ter  go  off  thar  to  the  south,  the  whole  kit  an'  kaboo- 
dle.  Onct  he  spoke  in  English,  just  a  word,  er  two.  Asa 
cudn't  make  out  whut  he  sed,  but  'twas  English,  all  right." 

"I  don't  doubt  that.  There  have  always  been 
white  renegades  among  the  Sacs  and  plenty  of  half- 
breeds.  Those  fellows  are  more  dangerous  than  the  In 
dians  themselves  —  more  savage,  and  revengeful.  If 
Black  Hawk,  and  this  other  fellow  are  leading  this  band, 
they  are  after  big  game  somewhere,  and  we  had  better 
keep  out  of  their  way.  I  favor  saddling  up  immediately, 
and  traveling  all  night." 

"So  do  I,"  and  Tim  flung  a  half-filled  bag  from  his 
shoulder  to  the  ground.  "But  I  vote  we  eat  furst.  'Tain't 
much,  only  a  few  scraps  I  found  out  thar  ;  but  it's  a  way 
better  then  nuthin'.  Here  you,  Hall,  give  me  a  hand,  an' 
then  we'll  go  out,  an'  round  up  them  hosses." 

If  the  party  of  raiding  Indians,  whose  foul  deed  we  had 


322 THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

discovered,  had  departed  in  a  southerly  direction,  as  their 
trail  would  plainly  seem  to  indicate,  then  our  safest  course 
would  seemingly  be  directed  eastward  up  the  valley.  This 
would  give  us  the  protection  of  the  bluffs,  and  take  us 
more  and  more  out  of  the  territory  they  would  be  likely 
to  cover.  All  this  I  explained  to  Eloise  as  we  struggled 
with  the  hard  bread,  and  a  few  strips  of  smoked  bacon. 
Most  of  the  bag  had  held  corn  meal,  but  no  one  suggested 
a  fire,  as  we  were  glad  enough  to  possess  anything  which 
would  still  the  pangs  of  hunger.  Eloise,  filled  with  sym 
pathy,  attempted  to  converse  with  Hall,  who  ate  as  though 
half-starved,  using  hands  and  teeth  like  a  young  animal, 
but  the  boy  was  so  embarrassed,  and  stuttered  so  terribly, 
as  to  make  the  effort  useless.  Within  twenty  minutes  we 
were  in  saddle,  descending  the  steep  hillside  through  the 
darkness,  Tim  walking  ahead  with  the  lad,  his  horse  trail 
ing  behind,  and  the  long  rifle  across  his  shoulder. 

It  was  a  hard  night  journey.  Occasionally  as  we  toiled 
onward  I  could  hear  Elsie  moan  and  sob,  but  Eloise  gave 
utterance  to  no  sound,  except  to  reply  cheerfully  whenever 
I  addressed  her.  The  exceeding  roughness  of  the  passage 
made  our  progress  slow,  and  quite  frequently  we  were  all 
obliged  to  dismount,  generally  glad  enough  of  the  change, 
and  plod  forward  for  some  distance  on  foot.  I  possessed 
no  knowledge  then  as  to  where  we  were,  the  map  having 
deceived  me  so  often  I  had  long  since  lost  all  confidence 
in  it  as  a  guide,  but  now,  in  this  later  day,  I  can  trace 
our  progress  with  some  degree  of  accuracy,  and  know 
that  we  passed  that  night  in  the  valley  of  Bureau  Creek, 
blindly  groping  our  way  forward  toward  a  fate  of  which 
we  little  dreamed. 


V ALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU 323 

Nor  did  those  weary  hours  of  darkness  bring  to  us  the 
slightest  warning.  I  do  not  recall  feeling  any  special  fear. 
In  the  first  place  I  was  convinced  that  we  must  already 
be  at  the  extreme  limit  of  Black  Hawk's  radius,  and  that, 
traveling  as  we  were  eastward,  must  before  morning  be 
well  beyond  any  possible  danger  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  his  warriors.  The  other  pursuers  I  had  practically  dis 
missed  from  thought.  Not  for  twenty- four  hours  had 
we  perceived  the  slightest  signs  of  Kirby's  presence  in  our 
rear,  and  my  faith  was  strong  that  his  party  had  either 
lost  our  trail,  or  been  turned  aside  by  fear  of  encountering 
Indians.  In  this  respect  Kennedy  remained  more  pessi 
mistic  than  I,  yet  even  in  his  mind  confidence  began  to 
dawn  that  we  had  outstripped  our  enemies,  both  white  and 
red,  and  that  a  few  miles  more  must  bring  us  in  safety  to 
some  pioneer  settlement.  The  poor  condition  of  our 
horses  compelled  us  to  rest  frequently,  and  our  own  utter 
exhaustion  led  to  our  dropping  asleep  almost  the  moment 
we  halted.  We  were  without  food,  and  in  no  mood  to 
converse.  Shortly  after  midnight  my  horse  strained  a 
tendon,  and  could  no  longer  uphold  my  weight.  On  foot, 
with  the  poor  beast  limping  painfully  behind  me,  I  pressed 
on  beside  Eloise,  both  of  us  silent,  too  utterly  wearied  with 
the  strain  for  any  attempt  at  speech. 

The  early  dawn  found  us  plodding  along  close  beside 
the  creek,  a  fair  sized  stream,  which  meandered  quietly 
through  a  beautiful  valley  protected  on  either  side  by  high 
bluffs,  rising  to  the  plateau  of  prairie  beyond.  The  bluffs 
themselves  were  wooded,  but  the  lower  expanse  was  open, 
covered  with  luxuriant  grass,  and  containing  only  an 
occasional  tree,  like  some  lone  sentinel,  diversifying  the 


324 THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

landscape  with  the  darker  coloring  of  its  leaves.  It  was 
a  delightful  scene,  a  bit  of  wilderness  beauty  undefined, 
appearing  so  peaceful  and  perfect  in  its  outer  aspect  as  to 
cause  even  our  tired,  jaded  eyes  to  open  in  eager  appre 
ciation.  I  noticed  Eloise  straighten  up  in  the  saddle,  her 
face  brightening  in  the  early  light  as  she  gazed  enrap 
tured  at  the  varied  shades  of  green  decorating  the  near-by 
bluff,  fading  gradually  into  the  delicate  blue  of  the  arching 
sky  overhead.  The  clear  water  of  the  creek  sparkled  and 
rippled  musically  over  a  bed  of  yellow  gravel,  while  the 
soft  lush  grass  clothing  each  bank  waved  gracefully  in 
the  light  wind,  rising  and  falling  like  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
It  was  all  primitive  nature  untouched,  nor  was  there  evi 
dence  anywhere  within  our  vision,  that  this  isolated  val 
ley  in  the  midst  of  the  prairie,  had  ever  before  been  visited 
by  man.  No  dim  trail  crossed  our  path;  no  appearance 
of  life,  human  or  animal,  met  our  eyes;  we  forced  our 
own  passage  onward,  with  nothing  to  guide  us,  feeling 
more  and  more  deeply  the  dread  loneliness  and  silence  of 
this  strangely  desolate  paradise. 

The  rising  sun  topped  the  summit  of  the  bluff,  its  red 
rays  seeming  to  bridge  with  spans  of  gossamer  the  little 
valley  up  which  we  toiled.  I  had  lost  my  interest,  and 
was  walking  doggedly  on,  with  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground, 
when  the  girl  beside  me  cried  out  suddenly,  a  new  excite 
ment  in  her  voice. 

"Oh,  there  is  a  cabin!  see!  Over  yonder;  just  beyond 
that  big  oak,  where  the  bluff  turns." 

Her  eager  face  was  aglow,  her  outstretched  hand  point 
ing  eagerly. 

The  logs  of  which  the  little  building  had  been  con- 


VALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU 325 

structed,  still  in  their  native  bark,  blended  so  perfectly 
with  the  drab  hillside  beyond,  that  for  the  moment  none 
of  us  caught  the  distant  outlines.  Tim  possessed  the  keen 
est  sight,  and  his  voice  was  first  to  speak. 

"Sure,  Miss,  thet's  a  cabin,  all  right,"  he  said  grimly. 
"One  room,  an'  new  built;  likely  'nough  sum  settler  just 
com'  in  yere.  I  don't  see  no  movement,  ner  smoke." 

"Fled  to  the  nearest  fort  probably,"  I  replied,  able  my 
self  by  this  time  to  decipher  the  spot.  "Be  too  risky  to 
stay  out  here  alone.  We'll  look  it  over;  there  might  be 
food  left  behind,  even  if  the  people  have  gone." 

We  must  have  been  half  an  hour  in  covering  the  dis 
tance.  There  were  a  number  of  shallow  gullies  to  cross, 
and  a  long,  gently  sloping  hill  to  climb.  The  cabin  stood 
well  up  above  the  stream,  within  the  shade  of  the  great 
oak,  and  we  were  confirmed,  long  before  we  reached  it, 
of  our  former  judgment  that  it  was  uninhabited.  The 
door  stood  ajar,  and  the  wooden  shutter  of  the  single 
window  hung  dejectedly  by  one  hinge.  No  sign  of  life 
was  visible  about  the  place;  it  had  the  appearance  of  de 
sertion,  no  smoke  even  curling  from  out  the  chimney. 
A  faint  trail,  evidently -little  used,  led  down  toward  the 
creek,  and  we  followed  this  as  it  wound  around  the  base 
of  the  big  tree.  Then  it  was  that  the  truth  dawned  sud 
denly  upon  us  —  there  to  our  right  lay  a  dead  mule,  har 
nessed  for  work,  but  with  throat  cut;  while  directly  in 
front  of  the  cabin  door  was  a  dog,  an  ugly,  massive  brute, 
his  mouth  open,  prone  on  his  back,  with  stiffened  legs 
pointing  to  the  sky.  I  dropped  my  rein,  and  strode  for 
ward. 

"Wait  where  you  are,"  I  called  back.     "There  have 


326  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

been  savages  here;  let  me  see  first  what  has  happened 
inside." 

The  dog  had  been  shot,  stricken  by  two  bullets,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  drag  his  huge  body  to  one  side  before 
I  could  press  my  way  in  through  the  door.  The  open 
doorway  and  window  afforded  ample  light,  and  a  single 
glance  was  sufficient  to  reveal  most  of  the  story.  It  was 
a  well-built  cabin,  recently  erected,  with  hip  roof 
and  puncheon  floor,  the  inside  of  the  logs  peeled, 
and  white-washed.  It  had  a  homelike  look,  the  few  scat 
tered  articles  of  furniture  rudely  but  skillfully  made.  A 
bit  of  chintz  fluttered  at  the  window,  and  a  flower  in  a 
can  bloomed  on  the  sill.  The  table  had  been  smashed  as 
by  the  blow  of  an  axe,  and  pewter  dishes  were  every 
where.  The  bed  in  one  corner  had  been  stripped  of  its 
coverlets,  many  of  them  slashed  by  a  knife,  and  the  straw 
tick  had  been  ripped  open  in  a  dozen  places.  Coals  from 
the  fireplace  lay  widespread,  some  of  them  having  eaten 
deeply  into  the  hard  wood  before  they  ceased  smouldering. 

I  saw  all  this,  yet  my  eyes  rested  upon  something  else. 
A  man  lay,  bent  double  across  an  overturned  bench,  in  a 
posture  which  hid  his  face  from  view.  His  body  was 
there  alone,  although  a  child's  shoe  lay  on  the  floor,  and 
a  woman's  linsey  dress  dangled  from  a  hook  against  the 
wall.  I  crept  forward,  my  heart  pounding  madly,  until 
I  could  gain  sight  of  his  face.  He  was  a  big  fellow,  not 
more  than  thirty,  with  sandy  hair  and  beard,  and  a  pug 
nacious  jaw,  his  coarse  hickory  shirt  slashed  into  ribbons, 
a  bullet  wound  in  the  center  of  his  forehead,  and  one  arm 
broken  by  a  vicious  blow.  His  calloused  hands  yet 
gripped  the  haft  of  an  axe,  just  as  he  had  died  —  fighting. 


VALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU  327 

The  sight  of  the  man  lying  in  that  posture  of  horror 
was  so  terrible  that  I  instantly  grasped  the  body,  drag 
ging  it  from  off  the  overturned  bench,  and  seeking  to 
give  it  a  resting  place  on  the  floor.  But  it  was  already 
stiffened  in  death,  and  I  could  only  throw  over  it  a  blanket 
to  hide  the  sight.  Tim's  voice  spoke  from  the  doorway. 

"Injuns,  I  reckon?" 

"Yes,  they  have  been  here ;  the  man  is  dead.  But  there 
must  have  been  others,  a  woman  and  child  also  —  see  that 
shoe  on  the  floor,  and  the  dress  hanging  over  there.  The 
poor  devil  fought  hard." 

Kennedy  stepped  inside,  staring  about  him. 

"I  reckon  likely  he  wus  yere  alone,"  he  commented 
slowly,  evidently  thinking  it  out.  "I  figure  like  this  — 
thet  he'd  heerd  rumors  o'  Injuns  bein'  raidin'  this  way, 
an'  hed  sent  his  f am'ly  back  ter  sum  fort  'round  yere,  but 
decided  fer  ter  take  his  own  chances.  Thar  ain't  no 
waggon  round  yere,  an'  no  hosses,  'cept  thet  muel.  He'd 
sure  hav'  sum  sorter  contivance  fer  ter  ride  in.  Then 
agin  he  sorter  looks  like  thet  kind  ov  a  feller  ter  me  —  he 
wudn't  do  no  runnin'  hisself,  but  I  reckon  he'd  take  keer 
o'  his  folks.  Whut's  this  yere  under  the  bench?  —  hell, 
a  letter."  He  held  it  up  to  the  light,  in  an  effort  to  de 
cipher  the  description.  "'Herman  Slosser,  Otterway, 
Illinoy  —  ter  be  held  till  called  fer/  Thet's  it,  Cap ;  thet's 
his  name,  I'll  bet  ye;  an'  so  we  can't  be  so  blamed  fur 
frum  this  yere  Otterway  fort.  Good  Lord!  won't  I  be 
glad  fer  ter  see  it." 

"Do  you  think  it  best  to  stop  here  ?" 

"Why  not?  Tain't  likely  them  devils  will  be  back 
agin.  Thar  sure  must  be  somethin'  fer  us  ter  eat  in  the 


328  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

place,  an'  the  Lord  kno's  we  can't  go  on  as  we  are.  Them 
gurls  be  mighty  nigh  ready  ter  drop,  an'  two  o'  the  hosses 
has  plum  giv'  out.  I'm  fer  liftin'  this  body  out'r  yere, 
an'  settlin'  down  fer  a  few  hours  enyhow  —  say  till  it 
gits  middling  dark." 

Undoubtedly  this  was  the  sensible  view.  We  would  be 
in  far  less  danger  remaining  there  under  cover  than  in 
any  attempt  to  continue  our  journey  by  daylight.  To 
gether  we  carried  Slosser's  body  out,  and  deposited  it  in 
a  thicket  behind  the  cabin,  awaiting  burial;  and  then 
dragged  the  dead  dog  also  out  of  sight.  The  disorder 
within  was  easily  remedied,  and,  after  this  had  been  at 
tended  to,  the  girls  were  permitted  to  enter.  Little  was 
said  to  them,  for  they  had  seen  enough  with  their  own 
eyes  to  render  the  situation  sufficiently  clear,  although 
in  truth  both  were  so  wearied  with  the  night  ride,  and 
the  strain  of  those  hours  of  flight,  as  to  be  practically  in 
capable  of  feeling  any  occurrence  deeply.  Horror  after 
horror  had  followed  us,  until  all  sense  of  such  things  had 
become  seared  and  deadened.  The  mind  had  reached  the 
limit  of  endurance,  and  refused  longer  to  respond.  Even 
as  I  repeated  briefly  what  it  was  we  had  discovered,  and 
the  conclusions  drawn,  their  faces  expressed  only  a  dull 
comprehension,  and  they  seemed  rather  to  be  struggling 
to  even  keep  an  appearance  of  interest.  Eloise  sank 
back  on  the  bench,  her  head  supported  against  the  wall, 
the  lashes  of  her  half-closed  eyes  showing  dark  against  the 
whiteness  of  her  cheeks.  She  looked  so  pitifully  tired,  the 
very  heart  choked  in  my  throat. 

The  rest  of  us  found  a  small  stock  of  provisions,  and 
Elsie,  with  Tim  to  aid  her,  built  a  fire  and  prepared  break" 


VALLEY  OF  THE  BUREAU  329 

fast.  A  half -filled  bottle  of  whisky  discovered  in  the 
cupboard,  helped  to  revive  all  of  us  slightly,  and  gave 
Asa  sufficient  courage  to  seek  outside  for  a  spring.  Tim, 
comparatively  unwearied  himself,  and  restless,  located  a 
trapdoor  in  the  floor,  rather  ingeniously  concealed,  which 
disclosed  the  existence  of  a  small  cellar  below.  Candle 
in  hand  he  explored  this,  returning  with  two  guns,  to 
gether  with  a  quantity  of  powder  and  ball,  and  informa 
tion  that  there  remained  a  half -keg  of  the  explosive  hid 
den  below. 

"Must  a  bin  aimin'  ter  blow  up  stumps,  I  reckon,"  he 
commented,  exhibiting  a  sample.  "Coarsest  I  ever  saw; 
cudn't  hardly  use  thet  in  no  gun,  but  it's  powder  all  right," 
and  he  crumbled  the  particles  between  his  fingers,  flinging 
the  stuff  into  the  fire. 

To  remove  the  debris  out  of  our  way,  I  was  gathering 
up  the  straw  tick  and  slit  blankets,  and  piled  them  all 
together  back  on  the  bed.  Clinging  to  one  of  the  blankets, 
caught  and  held  by  its  pin,  was  a  peculiar  emblem,  and 
I  stood  for  a  moment  with  it  in  my  hand,  curiously  exam 
ining  the  odd  design.  Eloise  unclosed  her  eyes,  and 
started  to  her  feet. 

"What  is  that  you  have  ?"  she  asked. 

"A  pin  of  some  kind  —  a  rather  strange  design;  I  just 
found  it  here,  entangled  in  this  blanket." 

She  took  it  from  my  hand,  her  eyes  opening  wide  as 
she  stared  at  the  trinket. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise,  "I  have  seen  one 
exactly  like  it  before  —  Kirby  wore  it  in  his  tie." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE 

T  LOOKED  again  at  the  thing  with  a  fresh  curiosity. 

yet  with  no  direct  thought  of  any  connection.  The 
undisguised  terror  manifest  in  her  face,  however,  caused 
me  to  realize  the  sudden  suspicion  which  this  discovery 
had  aroused. 

"That  means  nothing,"  I  insisted,  taking  the  pin  back 
into  my  own  possession.  "It  is  probably  the  emblem  of 
some  secret  order,  and  there  may  be  thousands  of  them 
scattered  about.  Anyhow  this  one  never  belonged  to  Joe 
Kirby.  He  could  never  have  been  here.  My  guess  is 
the  fellow  is  back  at  Yellow  Banks  before  now.  Forget 
it,  Eloise,  while  we  eat.  Then  a  few  hours'  sleep  will 
restore  your  nerves;  you  are  all  worn  out." 

We  had  nearly  completed  the  meal,  seated  around  what 
remained  of  the  shattered  table.  I  do  not  recall  what  we 
conversed  about,  if  indeed  we  conversed  at  all.  My  own 
thoughts,  rambling  as  they  were,  centered  on  Eloise,  and 
my  desire  to  bring  her  safely  to  the  Ottawa  fort.  How 
white  and  drawn  the  poor  girl's  face  looked  in  the  bright 
daylight ;  and  how  little  of  the  food  on  her  plate  she  was 
able  to  force  down.  What  intense  weariness  found  ex 
pression  in  those  eyes  which  met  mine.  And  she  con 
tinued  to  try  so  hard  to  appear  cheerful,  to  speak  lightly. 
It  was  pitiful.  Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  never  to  my  sight 
had  she  seemed  more  attractive,  more  sweet  of  face.  I 

330 


WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE 331 

could  not  remove  my  eyes  from  her,  nor  do  I  think  she 
was  unobservant,  for  a  tinge  of  red  crept  slowly  into 
the  white  cheeks,  and  a  aew  light  flashed  across  at  me 
from  beneath  the  shadowing  lashes. 

The  boy  Asa  sat  at  the  very  end  of  the  table,  facing 
the  open  door,  eating  as  though  he  had  not  tasted  food 
for  a  week.  He  was  a  homely,  uninteresting  lout,  but 
Tim  had  compelled  him  to  wash,  and  in  consequence  his 
freckled  face  shone,  and  the  wet  shock  of  hair  appeared 
moce  tousled  than  ever.  From  the  time  of  sitting  down 
he  had  scarcely  raised  his  eyes  from  off  the  pewter  plate 
before  him;  but  at  last  this  was  emptied,  and  he  lifted  his 
head,  to  stare  out  through  the  open  door.  Into  his  face 
came  a  look  of  dumb,  inarticulate  fright,  as  his  lips  gave 
utterance  to  one  cry  of  warning. 

"Look!     Look!" 

With  swift  turn  of  the  head  I  saw  what  he  meant  —  a 
man  on  horseback,  riding  at  a  savage  gait  up  the  trail, 
directly  for  the  cabin,  bent  so  low  in  the  saddle  his  fea 
tures  could  not  be  discerned,  but,  from  his  clothing,  un 
questionably  white.  I  was  without  the  door,  Tim  beside 
me  rifle  in  hand,  when  the  fellow  swept  around  the  base 
of  the  oak,  still  staring  behind  him,  as  though  in  fright 
of  pursuers,  and  flogging  his  straining  horse  with  the 
end  of  a  rein.  He  appeared  fairly  crazed  with  fear,  un 
aware  in  his  blind  terror  of  the  close  proximity  of  the 
cabin. 

"Hold  on!"  I  yelled,  springing  forward,  my  arms 
thrown  up,  directly  in  the  animal's  course.  "Stop,  you 
fool!" 

I  know  not  whether  the  frantic  horse  checked  itself, 


332  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

or  if  the  rider  drew  rein,  but  the  beast  stopped,  half  rear 
ing,  and  I  gazed  with  amazement  into  the  revealed  face 
of  the  man  —  he  was  Joe  Kirby.  Before  I  could  speak, 
or  move,  he  burst  into  words. 

"You !  Knox !  My  God,  man,  whoever  you  are,  don't 
refuse  me  shelter!" 

"Shelter?  from  what?"  my  hand  closing  on  a  pistol 
butt. 

"Indians!  Be  merciful,  for  God's  sake.  They  are 
there  in  the  valley,  they  are  after  me.  I  just  escaped 
them  —  they  were  going  to  burn  me  at  the  stake !" 

I  glanced  aside  at  Tim;  his  rifle  was  flung  forward. 
Then  I  looked  quickly  back  at  the  man,  who  had  already 
dropped  from  his  horse,  and  seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand. 
Was  this  true,  had  he  ridden  here  unknowing  whom  he 
would  meet,  with  no  other  thought  but  to  save  his  life? 
Heaven  knows  he  looked  the  part  —  his  swarthy  face 
dirtied,  with  a  stain  of  blood  on  one  cheek,  his  shirt  ripped 
into  rags,  bare-headed,  and  with  a  look  of  terror  in  his 
eyes  not  to  be  mistaken.  Villain  and  savage  as  I  knew 
.him  to  be,  I  still  felt  a  strange  wave  of  pity  sweep 
me  —  pity  and  tenderness,  mingled  with  hatred  and 
distrust. 

"Kirby,"  I  said,  and  strode  in  between  him  and  Tim's 
levelled  weapon.  "There  is  no  friendship  between  us  — 
now,  or  at  any  time.  I  believe  you  to  be  a  miserable,  snarl 
ing  dog;  but  I  would  save  even  a  cur  from  Indian  torture, 
Did  you  know  we  were  here  ?" 

"No,  so  help  me  God.  I  saw  the  cabin,  and  hoped  1C 
.find  help." 

"The  savages  are  following  you  ?" 


WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE  333 

"Yes  —  yes;  see!  Look  down  there  —  there  are  half 
a  hundred  of  the  devils,  and  —  and  Black  Hawk." 

"By  the  Holy  Smoke,  Cap,  he's  right — there  they 
are!"  sung  out  Kennedy,  pointing  excitedly.  "The  cuss 
ain'talym'.  What'll  we  do?" 

I  saw  them  also  by  this  time,  my  mind  in  a  whirl  of 
indecision.  What  should  we  do  ?  What  ought  we  to  do  ? 
We  should  have  to  fight  to  the  death  —  there  was  no 
doubt  of  that.  An  attempt  to  get  away  was  manifestly 
impossible.  But  what  about  this  renegade  ?  this  infernal 
scoundrel?  this  hell-hound  who  had  been  trailing  us  to 
kill  and  destroy?  Should  we  turn  him  back  now  to  his 
deserved  fate  ?  or  should  we  offer  him  the  same  chance  for 
life  we  had?  He  might  fight;  he  might  add  one  rifle  to 
our  defense ;  he  might  help  us  to  hold  out  until  rescuers 
came.  And  then  —  then  —  after  that  —  we  could  settle 
our  score.  Tim's  voice  broke  the  silence. 

"I-  reckon  we  ain't  got  much  time,"  he  said  grimly. 
"It's  one  thing,  'er  the  other.  I'm  fer  givin'  the  damn 
begger  a  chanst.  I  can't  turn  no  white  man  over  ter 
Injuns  —  not  me.  Kirby's  got  a  gun,  an'  I  reckon  we're 
goin'  fer  ter  need  'em  all  afore  this  blame  fracas  is  over 
with." 

"And  I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  said  Eloise, 
clearly,  speaking  from  the  open  door.  "Lieutenant  Knox, 
no  one  here  has  more  to  forgive  than  I.  We  must  give 
the  man  refuge  —  it  would  be  inhuman  not  to." 

My  questioning  eyes  sought  her  face,  and  I  read  there 
a  plea  for  mercy  not  to  be  resisted.  She  meant  her 
words,  and  the  hate  and  distrust  in  my  own  heart  seemed 
mean  and  vile.  I  stepped  forward  and  struck  the  horse 


334  THE  DEVIL'S  OU7N 

sharply,  sending  him  scurrying  around  the  end  of  the 
cabin. 

"Go  in !"  I  said,  grimly,  to  Kirby,  looking  him  squarely 
in  the  eyes.  "And  then  play  the  man,  if  you  care  to 
live." 

I  lingered  there  upon  the  outside  for  a  moment,  but 
for  a  moment  only.  The  advancing  cloud  of  savages 
were  already  coming  up  the  slope,  gradually  spreading 
out  into  the  form  of  a  fan.  The  majority  were  mounted, 
although  several  struggled  forward  on  foot.  Near  their 
center  appeared  the  ominous  gleam  of  a  red  blanket, 
waved  back  and  forth  as  though  in  signal,  but  the  dis 
tance  was  too  great  for  my  eyes  to  distinguish  the  one 
manipulating  it.  We  were  trapped,  with  our  backs  to 
the  wall. 

There  were  but  few  preparations  to  be  made,  and  I 
gave  small  attention  to  Kirby  until  these  had  been  hastily 
completed.  The  door  and  window  were  barred,  the 
powder  and  slugs  brought  up  from  below,  the  rifles  loaded 
and  primed,  the  few  loopholes  between  the  logs  opened, 
and  a  pail  of  water  placed  within  easy  reach.  This  was 
all  that  could  be  done.  Kennedy  made  use  of  the  fellow, 
ordering  him  about  almost  brutally,  and  Kirby  obeyed 
the  commands  without  an  answering  protest.  To  all  ap 
pearances  he  was  as  eager  as  we  in  the  preparations  for 
defense.  But  I  could  not  command  him;  to  even  address 
the  fellow  would  have  been  torture,  for  even  then  I  was 
without  faith,  without  confidence.  The  very  sneaking, 
cowardly  way  in  which  he  acted,  did  not  appeal  to  me  as 
natural.  I  could  not  deny  his  story  —  those  approaching 
Indians  alone  were  proof  that  he  fled  from  a  real  danger; 


WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE 335 

and  yet  —  and  yet,  to  my  mind  he  could  not  represent 
anything  but  treachery.  I  possessed  but  one  desire  —  to 
kick  the  cringing  cur. 

I  stood  at  a  loophole  watching  the  approaching  savages. 
They  had  halted  just  below  the  big  tree,  and  four  or  five, 
half  hidden  by  the  huge  trunk,  were  in  consultation,  well 
Beyond  rifle  shot.  Assured  by  their  attitude  that  the 
attack  would  not  be  made  immediately,  I  ventured  to  turn 
my  face  slightly,  and  take  final  survey  of  the  room  behind. 
Tim  had  stationed  himself  at  the  other  side  of  the  door, 
his  eyes  glued  to  a  narrow  opening,  both  hands  gripped 
on  his  gun.  Eloise  and  the  colored  girl,  the  one  dry-eyed 
and  alert,  the  other  prone  on  the  floor  crying,  were  where 
I  had  told  them  to  go,  into  the  darkest  corner.  The  boy 
I  did  not  see,  nor  even  remember;  but  Kirby  stood  on  the 
bench,  which  enabled  him  to  peer  out  through  the  loop 
hole  in  the  window  shutter.  What  I  noticed,  however, 
was,  that  instead  of  keeping  watch  without,  his  eyes  were 
furtively  wandering  about  the  room,  and,  when  they  sud 
denly  encountered  mine,  were  as  instantly  averted. 

"Where  was  it  you  met  those  Indians,  Kirby?"  I  ques 
tioned  sternly. 

"Down  the  valley." 

"Last  night?" 

"This  morning;  they  surprised  us  in  camp." 

"In  camp !  there  were  others  with  you,  then.  Who  were 
they  ?  the  party  you  had  trailing  us  ?" 

"Yes,"  a  decidedly  sullen  tone  creeping  into  his  voice. 
"Five  of  them;  one  was  a  Winnebago." 

"And  Rale  was  along,  I  presume.  What  became  of  the 
others?" 


336  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

He  shook  his  head,  but  with  no  show  of  feeling. 

"That's  more  than  I  know.  Things  were  hot  enough 
for  me  without  bothering  about  the  rest.  I  never  saw  any 
of  them  again,  except  Rale.  He  was  killed  in  the  fight. 
About  an  hour  after  that  I  shot  the  buck  who  was  guard 
ing  me,  and  got  away  on  his  horse." 

"What  Indians  were  they?" 

"Sacs  mostly;  some  Foxes,  and  maybe  a  Winnebago 
or  two." 

"Was  Black  Hawk  with  them?" 

"I  don't  know  —  I  never  saw  Black  Hawk." 

I  felt  firmly  convinced  that  he  was  deliberately  lying, 
and  yet  there  was  nothing  in  his  story  which  might  not 
be  true.  No  doubt  it  was  prejudice,  personal  hatred,  and 
distrust  which  led  me  to  come  to  this  conclusion.  Well, 
true  or  not,  I  meant  to  see  that  he  fought  now. 

"All  right,  but  I  advise  you  to  keep  your  eyes  outside," 
I  said  sternly.  "Don't  be  staring  about  the  cabin  any 
more." 

"I  was  looking  for  something  to  eat." 

"Is  that  so  ?  Well,  you  better  stand  it  for  awhile  with 
out  eating.  What  is  it,  Eloise?" 

"Please  let  me  hand  him  some  food." 

I  hesitated,  conscious  that  I  disliked  even  the  thought 
of  her  serving  the  fellow  in  any  way,  yet  unable  to  resist 
the  eager  plea  in  her  eyes. 

"Very  well,  if  you  wish  to;  only  keep  down  out  of 
range;  those  Indians  may  try  for  the  loopholes.  It  is 
inore  than  you  deserve,  Kirby." 

He  made  no  response,  and  I  watched  him  closely  as  he 
endeavored  to  eat  what  she  proffered  him,  and  feit  con- 


WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE  337' 

vinced  that  it  was  hard  work.  The  man  had  lied  about 
being  hungry;  he  was  not  in  need  of  food,  and  my  deep- 
rooted  suspicion  of  him  only  flamed  up  anew.  A  hand 
gripped  at  my  sleeve  timidly,  and  I  turned  quickly  to 
encounter  the  eyes  of  Asa  Hall.  Never  did  I  read  such 
depth  of  fear  in  the  expression  of  any  face  —  it  was  the 
wild,  unreasoning  terror  of  an  animal. 

"What  is  it,  my  boy?" 

"It's  him,  seh,"  he  whispered,  his  lips  trembling  so  I 
could  scarce  catch  the  words.  "Thet  feller  thar.  He's  — 
he's  the  one  I  saw  las'  night  with  Black  Hawk." 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Yes,  seh;  I  know  him.     I  saw  him  plain  as  I  do 


now." 


I  do  not  know  why,  but  every  bit  of  evidence  against 
the  man  came  instantly  thronging  back  to  my  mind  —  the 
chance  remark  of  Thockmorton  on  the  Warrior  about 
his  suspicion  of  Indian  blood;  the  high  cheek  bones  and 
thin  lips;  the  boy's  earlier  description;  the  manner  in 
which  our  trail  had  been  so  relentlessly  followed;  the 
strange  emblem  found  pinned  to  the  blanket.  I  seemed 
to  grasp  the  entire  truth  —  the  wily,  cowardly  scheme  of 
treachery  he  was  endeavoring  to  perpetrate.  My  blood 
boiled  in  my  veins,  and  yet  I  felt  cold  as  ice,  as  I  swung 
about,  and  faced  the  fellow,  my  rifle  flung  forward. 

"Kirby,  stand  up!  Drop  that  rifle  —  take  it,  Eloise. 
Now  raise  your  hands.  Tim." 

"Whut'sup?" 

"Is  there  anything  serious  going  on  outside?" 

"No;  nuthin'  much  — just  pow-wowin'.  Yer  want 
me?" 


338  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

"Search  that  scoundrel  for  weapons.  Don't  ask  ques 
tions;  do  what  I  say." 

He  made  short  work  of  it,  using  no  gentle  methods. 

"WaF  the  gent  wasn't  exactly  harmless,"  he  reported, 
grinning  cheerfully,  "considerin*  this  yere  knife  an  can 
non.  Now,  maybe  ye'll  tell  me  whut  the  hell's  up?" 

Kirby  stood  erect,  his  dark  eyes  searching  our  faces, 
his  lips  scornful. 

"And  perhaps,  Mr.  Lieutenant  Knox,"  he  added  sar 
castically.  "You  might  condescend  to  explain  to  me  also 
the  purpose  of  this  outrage." 

"With  pleasure,"  but  without  lowering  my  rifle.  "This 
boy  here  belonged  to  the  company  of  soldiers  massacred 
yesterday  morning.  You  know  where  I  mean.  He  was 
the  only  one  to  escape  alive,  and  he  saw  you  there  among 
the  savages  —  free,  and  one  of  them." 

"He  tells  you  that?  And  you  accept  the  word  of  that 
half-wit?" 

"He  described  your  appearance  to  us  exactly  twenty- 
four  hours  ago.  1  never  thought  of  you  at  the  time, 
although  the  description  was  accurate  enough,  because 
it  seemed  so  impossible  for  you  to  have  been  there.  But 
that  isn't  all,  Kirby.  What  has  become  of  the  emblem 
pin  you  wore  in  your  tie?  It  is  gone,  I  see." 

His  hand  went  up  involuntarily.  It  is  possible  he  had 
never  missed  it  before,  for  a  look  of  indecision  came  into 
the  man's  face  —  the  first  symptom  of  weakness  I  had 
ever  detected  there. 

"It  must  have  been  lost — mislaid — " 

"It  was;  and  I  chance  to  be  able  to  tell  you  where  —  in 
this  very  room.  Here  is  your  pin,  you  incarnate  devil. 


WE  ACCEPT  A  REFUGEE  339 

I  found  it  caught  in  those  blankets  yonder.  This  is  not 
your  first  visit  to  this  cabin;  you  were  here  with  Indian 
murderers." 

"It's  a  damned  lie  —  " 

But  Kennedy  had  him,  locked  in  a  vise-like  grip.  It 
was  well  he  had,  for  the  fellow  had  burst  into  a  frantic 
rage,  yet  was  bound  so  utterly  helpless  as  to  appear  almost 
pitiful.  The  knowledge  of  what  he  had  planned,  of  his 
despicable  treachery,  left  us  merciless.  In  spite  of  his 
struggles  we  bore  him  to  the  floor,  and  pinned  him  there, 
cursing  and  snapping  like  a  wild  beast. 

"Tear  up  one  of  those  blankets,"  I  called  back  over 
my  shoulder  to  Hall.  "Yes,  into  strips,  of  course;  now 
bring  them  here.  Tim,  you  tie  the  fellow  —  yes,  do  a 
good  job;  I'll  hold  him.  Lie  still,  Kirby,  or  I  shall  have 
to  give  you  the  butt  of  this  gun  in  the  face." 

He  made  one  last  effort  to  break  free,  and,  as  my  hand 
attempted  to  close  on  his  throat,  the  clutching  fingers 
caught  the  band  of  his  shirt,  and  ripped  it  wide  open. 
There,  directly  before  me,  a  scar  across  his  hairy,  exposed 
chest,  was  a  broad,  black  mark,  a  tribal  totem.  I  stared 
down  at  it,  recognizing  its  significance. 

"By  Heaven,  Tim,  look  at  this !"  I  cried.  "He  is  an 
Indian  himself  —  a  black  Sac!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

T  DO  not  know  what  delayed  the  attack  of  the  savages, 

•*•  unless  they  were  waiting  for  some  signal  which  never 
came.  I  passed  from  loophole  to  loophole,  thus  assuring 
myself  not  only  that  they  still  remained,  but  that  the  cab 
in  was  completely  surrounded,  although  the  manner  in 
which  the  warriors  had  been  distributed  left  the  great 
mass  of  them  opposite  the  front.  The  others  evidently 
composed  a  mere  guard  to  prevent  escape.  No  movement 
I  could  observe  indicated  an  immediate  assault;  they 
rather  appeared  to  be  awaiting  something. 

Those  I  saw  were  all  dismounted,  and  had  advanced 
toward  the  cabin  as  closely  as  possible  without  coming 
within  the  range  of  guns.  They  had  also  sheltered  them 
selves  as  far  as  possible  behind  clumps  of  brush,  or  ridges 
of  rock,  so  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  estimate  their  num 
ber.  Only  occasionally  would  a  venturesome  warrior 
appear  for  a  moment  in  the  open,  as  he  glided  steathily 
from  the  protection  of  one  covert  to  another.  No  doubt 
some  were  brought  within  range  of  our  rifles,  as  these 
efforts  were  usually  made  to  more  advanced  positions, 
but  I  forbade  firing,  in  the  vague  hope  that,  not  hearing 
from  Kirby,  the  chiefs  might  become  discouraged  and 
draw  off  without  risking  an  open  attack. 

This  was  more  a  desperate  hope,  rather  than  any  real 
faith  I  possessed.  Beyond  doubt  the  Indian  chief  knew, 

340 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  341 

or  thought  he  knew,  our  exact  strength  before  he  con 
sented  to  use  his  warriors  in  this  assault.  If  the  band  had 
trailed  us  to  this  spot,  it  had  been  done  through  the  influ 
ence  of  Kir  by,  and  he  had,  beyond  question,  informed 
them  as  to  whom  we  were,  and  the  conditions  under 
which  we  had  fled  from  Yellow  Banks.  The  only  addi 
tion  to  our  party  since  then  was  the  rescued  boy.  They 
would  have  little  fear  of  serious  loss  in  an  attack  upon 
two  men,  and  two  women,  unarmed,  except  possibly  with 
a  pistol  or  two,  even  though  barricaded  behind  the  log 
walls  of  a  cabin.  And,  with  one  of  their  number  within, 
any  attempt  at  defense  would  be  but  a  farce.  This  same 
gang  had  already  sacked  the  cabin,  taking  with  them,  as 
they  believed,  every  weapon  it  contained.  In  their  haste 
they  had  overlooked  the  cellar  below.  They  had  no 
thought  of  its  existence,  nor  that  we  awaited  them  rifles 
in  hand  and  writh  an  amply  supply  of  powder  and  lead. 
Whatever  might  be  the  final  result,  a  surprise  of  no  pleas 
ant  nature  was  awaiting  their  advance. 

Convinced,  as  I  had  become,  that  Black  Hawk  was  actu 
ally  with  the  party,  although  I  was  unable  to  obtain  any 
glimpse  of  him,  I  felt  there  was  small  chance  of  his  de 
parture,  without  making  at  least  one  effort  to  capture  the 
cabin.  That  was  his  nature,  his  reputation  —  that  of 
a  bulldog  to  hang  on,  a  tiger  to  strike.  More  even,  this 
band  of  raiders  must  be  far  south  of  the  main  body  of  the 
Hawk's  followers,  and  hence  in  danger  themselves.  They 
would  never  remain  here  long,  facing  the  possibility  of 
discovery,  of  having  their  retreat  cut  off.  If  they  at 
tacked,  the  attempt  would  not  be  long  delayed. 

Still  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  wait.    We  were 


342  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

already  as  completely  prepared  as  possible  with  our  re 
sources.  The  main  assault  would  undoubtedly  be  deliv 
ered  from  the  front,  directed  against  the  door,  the  only 
point  where  they  could  hope  to  break  in.  Here  Tim  and 
myself  held  our  positions,  as  ready  as  we  could  be  for  any 
emergency,  and  watchful  of  the  slightest  movement  with 
out.  Tim  had  even  brought  up  the  half -keg  of  coarse 
powder  from  the  cellar,  and  rolled  it  into  one  corner  out 
of  the  way.  His  only  explanation  was,  a  grim  reply  to 
my  question,  that  "it  mought  be  mighty  handy  ter  hav* 
round  afore  the  fracus  wus  done."  We  had  stationed 
Asa  on  the  bench,  as  a  protection  to  any  attack  from  the 
rear,  although  our  only  real  fear  of  danger  from  that 
direction  lay  in  an  attempt  to  fire  the  cabin  during  the 
engagement  in  front.  I  had  instructed  the  boy  to  stay 
there  whatever  happened,  as  he  could  be  of  no  help  any 
where  else,  and  to  shoot,  and  keep  shooting  at  anything  he 
saw.  Not  overly-bright,  and  half -dead  with  fear  as  he 
was,  I  had  no  doubt  but  what  he  would  prove  dangerous 
enough  once  the  action  started;  and,  if  he  should  fail, 
Eloise,  crouching  just  behind  him  in  the  corner,  could 
be  trusted  to  hold  him  to  his  duty.  There  was  no  fear  in 
her,  no  shrinking,  no  evidence  of  cowardice.  Not  once 
did  I  feel  the  need  of  giving  her  word  of  encouragement 
—  even  as  I  glanced  toward  her  it  was  to  perceive  the 
gleam  of  a  pistol  gripped  in  her  hand.  She  was  of  the 
old  French  fighting  stock,  which  never  fails. 

My  eyes  softened  as  I  gazed  at  her,  her  head  held 
proudly  erect,  every  nerve  alert,  her  eyes  steadfast  and 
clear.  Against  the  log  wall  a  few  yards  away,  Kirby 
strained  at  his  blanket  bonds,  and  had  at  last  succeeded 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  343 

in  lifting  himself  up  far  enough  so  as  to  stare  about  the 
room.  There  was  none  of  the  ordinary  calm  of  the  gam 
bler  about  the  fellow  now  —  all  the  pitiless  hate,  and  love 
of  revenge  which  belonged  to  his  wild  Indian  blood  blazed 
in  his  eyes.  He  glared  at  me  in  sudden,  impotent  rage. 

"You  think  you've  got  me,  do  you?"  he  cried,  scowling 
across;  then  an  ugly  grin  distorted  his  thin  lips.  "Not 
yet  you  haven't,  you  soldier  dog.  IVe  got  some  cards  left 
to  play  in  this  game,  you  young  fool.  What  did  you  butt 
in  for  anyway?  This  was  none  of  your  affair.  Damn 
you,  Knox,  do  you  know  who  she  is  ?  I  mean  that  white- 
faced  chit  over  there- — do  you  know  who  she  is?  You 
think  you  are  going  to  get  her  away  from  me  ?  Well,  you 
are  not  —  she's  my  wife;  do  you  hear? — my  wife!  I've 
got  the  papers,  damn  you!  She's  mine!  —  mine;  and  I 
am  going  to  have  her  long  after  you're  dead  —  yes,  and 
the  whole  damn  Beaucaire  property  with  her.  By  God ! 
you  talk  about  fighting — why  there  are  fifty  Indians  out 
there.  Wait  till  they  find  out  what  has  happened  to  me. 
Oh,  I'll  watch  you  die  at  the  stake,  you  sneaking  white 
cur,  and  spit  in  your  face!" 

"Kirby,"  I  said  sternly,  but  quietly,  stepping  directly 
across  toward  him,  "I've  heard  what  you  said,  and  that 
is  enough.  You  are  a  prisoner,  and  helpless,  but  I  am  go 
ing  to  tell  you  now  to  hold  your  tongue.  Otherwise  you 
will  never  see  me  at  the  stake,  because  I  shall  blow  your 
brains  out  where  you  lie.  One  more  word,  and  I  am  going 
to  rid  this  world  of  its  lowest  specimen  of  a  human  being." 

"You  dare  not  do  —  " 

"And  why  not?  You  promise  me  death  either  way; 
•what  have  I  to  lose  then  by  sending  you  first  ?  It  will  rid 


344  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

the  girl  of  you,  and  that  means  something  to  me  —  and 
her.  Just  try  me,  and  see." 

He  must  have  read  the  grim  meaning  in  my  face,  for  he 
fell  back  against  the  log,  muttering  incoherently,  his  dark 
eyes  wells  of  hate,  his  face  a  picture  of  malignancy,  but 
utterly  helpless  —  the  lurking  coward  in  him,  unable  to 
face  my  threat.  I  left  him  and  stooped  above  her. 

"We  shall  be  busy  presently ;  the  delay  cannot  be  much 
longer.  I  am  afraid  that  fellow  may  succeed  somehow  in 
doing  us  harm.  He  is  crazed  enough  to  attempt  any 
thing.  May  I  trust  you  to  guard  him  ?" 

Her  eyes,  absolutely  fearless  and  direct,  looked  straight 
up  into  mine. 

"Yes,  he  will  make  no  movement  I  shall  not  see.  Tell 
me ;  do  you  believe  there  is  hope  ?" 

"God  knows.  We  shall  do  our  best.  If  the  worst 
comes  —  what  ?" 

"Do  not  fear  for  me;  do  not  let  any  memory  of  me 
turn  you  aside  from  your  work,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
know  what  you  mean  and  pledge  you  I  shall  never  fall 
into  his  hands.  It  —  it  cannot  be  wrong,  I  am  sure,  and 

—  and  I  must  tell  you  that.     I  —  I  could  not,  Steven, 
for — for  I  love  you." 

My  eager  hands  were  upon  hers,  my  eyes  greedily  read 
ing  the  message  revealed  so  frankly  in  the  depths  of  her 
own.  She  only  was  in  my  thoughts ;  we  were  there  alone 

—  alone. 

"They're  a  comin',  Cap,"  yelled  Kennedy  and  his  rifle 
cracked.  "By  God !  they're  here !" 

With  one  swift  spring  I  was  back  at  my  deserted  post 
and  firing.  Never  before  had  I  been  in  an  Indian  battle. 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  345 

but  they  had  told  me  at  Armstrong  that  the  Sacs  were 
lighting  men.  I  knew  it  now.  This  was  to  be  no  play  at 
war,  but  a  grim,  relentless  struggle.  They  came  en  masse, 
rushing  recklessly  forward  across  the  open  space,  press 
ing  upon  each  other  in  headlong  desire  to  be  first,  yelling 
like  fiends,  guns  brandished  in  air,  or  spitting  fire,  ani 
mated  by  but  one  purpose — the  battering  of  a  way  into 
that  cabin.  I  know  not  who  led  them  —  all  I  saw  was  a 
mass  of  half-naked  bodies  bounding  toward  me,  long  hair 
streaming,  copper  faces  aglow,  weapons  glittering  in  the 
light.  Yes,  I  saw  more  —  the  meaning  of  that  fierce  rush ; 
the  instrument  of  destruction  they  brought  with  them.  It 
was  there  in  the  center  of  the  maelstrom  of  leaping  figures, 
protected  by  the  grouped  bodies,  half  hidden  by  gesticu 
lating  red  arms  —  a  huge  log,  borne  irresistibly  forward 
on  the  shoulders  of  twenty  warriors,  gripped  by  other 
hands,  and  hurled  toward  us  as  though  swept  on  by  a 
human  sea.  Again  and  again  I  fired  blindly  into  the  yelp 
ing  mob;  I  heard  the  crack  of  Tim's  rifle  echoing  mine, 
and  the  chug  of  lead  from  without  striking  the  solid  logs. 
Bullets  ploughed  crashing  through  the  door  panels  and 
Elsie's  shrill  screams  of  fright  rang  out  above  the  un 
earthly  din.  A  slug  tore  through  my  loophole,  drawing 
blood  from  my  shoulder  in  its  passage,  and  imbedded 
itself  in  the  opposite  wall.  In  front  of  me  savages  fell, 
staggering,  screams  of  anger  and  agony  mingling  as  the 
astonished  assailants  realized  the  fight  before  them.  An 
instant  we  held  them,  startled,  and  demoralized.  The 
warriors  bearing  the  log  stumbled  over  a  dead  body  and 
went  down,  the  great  timber  crushing  out  another  life  as 
it  fell  Again  we  fired,  this  time  straight  into  their  faces 


346  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

—  but  there  was  no  stopping  them.  A  red  blanket  flashed 
back  beyond  the  big  tree;  a  guttural  voice  shouted,  its 
hoarse  note  rising  above  the  hellish  uproar,  and  those 
demons  were  on  their  feet  again,  filled  with  new  frenzy. 
It  was  a  minute  —  no  more.  With  a  blow  that  shook  the 
cabin,  propelled  by  twenty  strong  arms,  the  great  tree 
butt  struck,  splintering  the  oak  wood  as  though  it  were  so 
much  pine,  and  driving  a  jagged  hole  clear  through  one 
panel.  Kennedy  was  therea  blazing  away  directly  into 
the  assailants  eyes,  and  I  joined  him. 

Again  they  struck,  and  again,  the  jagged  end  of  their 
battering  ram  protruded  through  the  shattered  wood. 
We  killed,  but  they  were  too  many.  Once  more  the 
great  butt  came  crashing  forward,  this  time  caving  in  the 
entire  door,  bursting  it  back  upon  its  hinges.  In  through 
the  opening  the  red  mob  hurled  itself,  reckless  of  deajth 
or  wounds,  mad  with  the  thirst  for  victory;  a  jam  of 
naked  beasts,  crazed  by  the  smell  of  blood  —  a  wave  of 
slaughter,  crested  with  brandished  guns  and  gleam  of 
tomahawk. 

There  is  nothing  to  remember  —  nothing  but  blows, 
curses,  yells,  the.  crunch  of  steel  on  flesh,  the  horror  of 
cruel  eyes  glowering  into  yours,  the  clutching  of  fingers 
at  your  throat,  the  spit  of  fire  singeing  you,  the  strain  of 
combat  hand  to  hand  —  the  knowledge  that  it  is  all  over, 
except  to  die.  I  had  no  sense  of  fear;  no  thought  but  to 
kill  and  be  killed.  I  felt  within  me  strength  —  desperate, 
insane  strength.  The  rifle  butt  splintered  in  my  hands, 
but  the  bent  and  shapeless  barrel  rose  and  fell  like  a  flail. 
I  saw  it  crush  against  skulls ;  I  jabbed  it  straight  into  red 
faces;  I  brought  it  down  with  all  my  force  on  clutching 


VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  347 

arms.  For  an  instant  Tim  was  beside  me.  He  had  lost 
his  gun  and  was  fighting  with  a  knife.  It  was  only  a 
glimpse  I  had  of  him  through  red  mist  —  the  next  instant 
he  was  gone.  A  huge  fellow  faced  me,  a  Winnebago  I 
knew,  from  his  shaven  head.  I  struck  him  once,  laying 
open  his  cheek  to  the  bone;  then  he  broke  through  and 
gripped  me. 

The  rest  is  what  —  a  dream;  a  delirium  of  fever?  I 
know  not;  it  comes  to  me  in  flashes  of  mad  memory.  I 
was  struck  again  and  again,  stabbed,  and  flung  to  the 
floor.  Moccasined  feet  trod  on  me,  and  some  fiend 
gripped  my  hair,  bending  my  head  back  across  a  dead 
body,  until  I  felt  the  neck  crack.  Above  me  were  naked 
legs  and  arms,  a  pandemonium  of  dancing  figures,  a  hor 
rible  chorus  of  maddened  yells.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Asa  Hall  flung  high  into  the  air,  shot  dead  in  mid-flight, 
the  whirling  body  dropping  into  the  ruck  below.  I  saw 
the  savage,  whose  fingers  were  twined  in  my  hair,  lift 
a  gleaming  tomahawk  and  circle  it  about  his  head;  I 
stared  into  the  hate  of  his  eyes,  and  as  it  swept  down  — 
there  was  a  glare  of  red  and  yellow  flame  between  us,  the 
thunder  of  an  explosion;  the  roof  above  seemed  to  burst 
asunder  and  fall  in — and  darkness,  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  TRAIL  TO  OTTAWA 

TT  7" HEN  my  eyes  again  opened  it  was  to  darkness  and 
silence  as  profound  as  that  of  my  former  uncon 
sciousness.  My  mind  was  a  blank,  and  seemingly  I 
retained  no  sense  of  what  had  occurred,  or  of  my  present 
surroundings.  For  the  moment  I  felt  no  certainty  even 
that  I  was  actually  alive,  yet  slowly,  little  by  little,  reality 
conquered,  and  I  became  keenly  conscious  of  physical 
pain,  while  memory  also  began  to  blindly  reassert  itself. 
It  was  a  series  of  dim  pictures  projecting  themselves  on 
the  awakening  brain  — the  Indian  attack  on  the  cabin, 
the  horrors  of  that  last  struggle,  the  gleaming  tomahawk 
descending  on  my  head  to  deal  the  death  blow,  the  savage 
eyes  of  my  assailant  glaring  into  mine,  and  that  awful 
flash  of  red  and  yellow  flame,  swept  across  my  mind  one 
by  one  with  such  intense  vividness  as  to  cause  me  to  give 
vent  to  a  moan  of  agony. 

I  could  see  nothing,  hear  nothing.  All  about  was  im 
penetrable  blackness  and  the  silence  of  the  grave.  I 
found  myself  unable  to  move  my  body  and  when  I  des 
perately  attempted  to  do  so,  even  the  slightest  motion 
brought  pain.  I  became  conscious  also  of  a  weight  crush 
ing  down  upon  me,  and  stifling  my  breath.  One  of  my 
arms  was  free;  I  could  move  it  about  within  narrow 
limits,  although  it  ached  as  from  a  serious  burn.  By  use 
of  it  I  endeavored  through  the  black  darkness  to  learn 

348 


THE  TRAIL  TO  OTTAWA  349 

the  nature  of  that  heavy  object  lying  across  my  chest, 
feeling  at  it  cautiously.  My  fingers  touched  cold,  dead 
flesh,  from  contact  with  which  they  shrank  in  horror, 
only  to  encounter  a  strand  of  coarse  hair.  The  first 
terror  of  this  discovery  was  overwhelming,  yet  I  per 
severed,  satisfying  myself  that  it  was  the  half-naked 
body  of  an  Indian  —  a  very  giant  of  a  fellow  —  which 
lay  stretched  across  me,  an  immovable  weight.  Some 
thing  else,  perhaps  another  dead  man,  held  my  feet  as 
though  in  a  vise,  and  when  I  ventured  to  extend  my  one 
free  arm  gropingly  to  one  side,  the  fingers  encountered  a 
moccasined  foot.  Scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  I  lay  staring 
upward  and,  far  above,  looking  out  through  what  might 
be  a  jagged,  overhanging  mass  of  timbers,  although 
scarcely  discernible,  my  eyes  caught  the  silver  glimmer 
of  a  star. 

I  was  alive  —  alive!  Whatever  had  occurred  in  that 
fateful  second  to  deflect  that  murderous  tomahawk,  its 
keen  edge  had  failed  to  reach  me.  And  what  had 
occurred?  What  could  account  for  my  escape;  for  this 
silence  and  darkness ;  for  these  dead  bodies ;  for  the  flight 
of  our  assailants?  Indians  always  removed  their  dead, 
yet  seemingly  this  place  was  a  perfect  charnel  house, 
heaped  with  slain.  Surely  there  could  be  but  one  answer 
—  the  occurrence  of  a  disaster  so  complete,  so  horrifying, 
that  the  few  who  were  left  alive  had  thought  only  of 
instant  flight.  Then  it  was  that  the  probable  truth  came 
to  me  —  that  flash  and  roar;  that  last  impression  im 
printed  on  my  brain  before  utter  darkness  descended 
upon  me,  must  have  meant  an  explosion,  an  upheaval 
shattering  the  cabin,  bringing  the  roof  down  upon  the 


350  THE  DEVI  US  OWN 

struggling  mob  within,  the  heavy  timbers  crushing  out 
their  lives.  And  the  cause!  But  one  was  possible  —  the 
half -keg  of  blasting  power  Kennedy  had  placed  in  the 
corner  as  a  last  resort.  Had  Tim  reached  it  in  a  final, 
mad  effort  to  destroy,  or  had  some  accidental  flame 
wrought  the  terrible  destruction  ?  Perhaps  no  one  could 
ever  answer  that  —  but,  was  I  there  alone,  the  sole  sur 
vivor?  Had  those  others  of  our  little  party  died  amid 
their  Indian  enemies,  and  were  they  lying  now  some 
where  in  this  darkness,  crushed  and  mangled  in  the  midst 
of  the  debris? 

Kennedy,  Elsie  Clark,  the  half-witted  boy  Asa  Hall  — 
their  faces  seemed  to  stare  at  me  out  of  the  blackness. 
They  must  be  dead!  Why,  1  had  seen  Kennedy  fall,  the 
heedless  feet  crunching  his  face,  and  Asa  Hall  tossed  into 
the  air  and  shot  at  as  he  fell.  Eloise !  Eloise !  I  covered 
my  eyes  with  the  free  hand,  conscious  that  I  was  crying 
like  a  child  —  Eloise.  My  God,  Eloise!  I  wonder  if  I 
fainted ;  I  knew  so  little  after  that ;  so  little,  except  that 
I  suffered  helplessly.  That  awful,  pressing  weight  upon 
my  chest,  the  impossibility  of  moving  my  limbs,  the 
ceaseless  horror  of  the  dark  silence,  the  benumbing 
knowledge  that  all  about  me  lay  those  dead  bodies,  with 
sightless  eyes  staring  through  the  black.  If  I  did  not 
faint,  then  I  must  have  been  upon  the  verge  of  insanity, 
for  there  was  a  time  —  God  knows  how  long  —  when  all 
was  blank. 

Some  slight,  scarcely  distinguishable  noise  aroused  me. 
Yes,  it  was  actually  a  sound,  as  though  someone  moved  in 
the  room  —  moved  stealthily,  as  though  upon  hands  and 
knees,  seeking  a  passage  in  the  darkness.  I  imagined  I 


THE  TRAIL  TO  OTTAWA 351 

could  distinguish  breathing.  Who,  what  could  it  be? 
A  man ;  a  prowling  wild  animal  which  had  scented  blood  ? 
But  for  my  dry,  parched  lips  I  would  have  cried  out — • 
yet  even  with  the  vain  endeavor,  doubt  silenced  me.  Who 
could  be  there  —  who?  Some  sneaking,  cowardly  thief; 
some  despoiler  of  the  dead?  Some  Indian  returned 
through  the  night  to  take  his  toll  of  scalps,  hoping  to 
thus  proclaim  himself  a  mighty  warrior?  More  likely 
enemy  than  friend.  It  was  better  that  I  lie  and  suffer 
than  appeal  to  such  fiend  for  mercy. 

The  slight  sound  shifted  to  the  right  of  where  I  lay, 
no  longer  reminding  me  of  the  slow  progress  of  a  moving 
body,  but  rather  as  though  someone  were  attempting 
blindly  to  scrape  together  ashes  in  the  fireplace.  Yes, 
that  must  be  what  was  being  done ;  whoever  the  strange 
invader  might  be,  and  whatever  his  ultimate  purpose, 
the  effort  now  being  made  was  to  provide  a  light,  a  flame 
sufficient  to  reveal  the  horror  of  the  place  —  to  facilitate 
his  ghastly  work.  I  would  wait  then;  lie  there  as  one 
dead  until  the  coming  of  light  helped  me  to  solve  the 
mystery.  Some  life  must  still  have  lingered  amid 
those  ashes,  for  suddenly  I  caught,  reflected  on  the  log 
wall,  the  tiniest  spurt  of  flame.  It  grew  so  slowly,  fed 
by  a  hand  I  could  not  see ;  then  on  that  same  wall  there 
appeared  the  dark  shadow  of  an  arm,  and  the  bent,  dis 
torted  image  of  a  head.  I  pressed  my  one  free  hand 
beneath  my  neck,  and  thus,  by  an  effort,  lifted  myself 
so  as  to  see  more  clearly  beyond  the  shoulder  of  the  dead 
Indian.  The  first  tiny,  flickering  spark  of  fire  had  caught 
the  dry  wood,  and  was  swiftly  bursting  into  flame.  In 
another  moment  this  had  illumined  that  stooping  figure, 


352  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

and  rested  in  a  blaze  of  light  upon  the  lowered  face,  bring 
ing  out  the  features  as  though  they  were  framed  against 
the  black  wall  beyond  —  a  woman's  face,  the  face  of 
Eloise! 

I  gave  vent  to  one  startled,  inarticulate  cry,  and  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  the  mantling  flames  girdling  her  as 
though  she  were  a  statue.  They  lit  up  the  white-washed 
wall,  splashed  with  blood,  and  gave  a  glimpse  of  the 
wrecked  timbers  dangling  from  above.  In  that  first 
frightened  glance  she  failed  to  see  me ;  her  whole  posture 
told  of  fear,  of  indecision. 

"Who  was  it  spoke?  Who  called?  Is  someone  alive 
here?" 

The  trembling  words  sounded  strange,  unnatural.  I 
could  barely  whisper,  yet  I  did  my  best. 

"It  is  Steven,  Eloise  —  come  to  me." 

"Steven!  Steven  Knox  —  alive!  Oh,  my  God;  you 
have  answered  my  prayer!" 

She  found  me,  heedless  of  all  the  horror  in  between, 
as  though  guided  by  some  instinct,  and  dropped  on  her 
knees  beside  me.  I  felt  a  tear  fall  on  my  cheek,  and  then 
the  warm,  eager  pressure  of  her  lips  to  mine.  I  could  not 
speak;  I  could  only  hold  her  close  with  my  one  hand. 
The  flames  beyond  leaped  up,  widening  their  gleam  of 
light,  revealing  more  clearly  the  dear  face  and  the  joy 
with  which  she  gazed  down  upon  me. 

"You  are  suffering,"  she  cried.  "What  can  I  do  ?  Is 
it  this  Indian's  body?" 

"Yes,"  I  breathed,  the  effort  of  speaking  an  agony. 
"He  lies  directly  across  my  chest,  a  dead  weight." 

It  taxed  her  strength  to  the  utmost,  but,  oh,  the  imme- 


THE  TRAIL  TO  OTTAWA 353 

diate  relief!  With  the  drawing  of  a  full  breath  I  felt  a 
return  of  manhood,  a  revival  of  life.  Another  body 
pinned  my  limbs  to  the  floor,  but  this  was  more  easily 
disposed  of.  Then  I  managed  to  lift  myself,  but  with  the 
first  attempt  her  arm  was  about  my  shoulders. 

"No ;  not  alone  —  let  me  help  you.  Do  you  really  think 
you  can  stand!  Why,  you  are  hurt,  dear;  this  is  a  knife 
wound  in  your  side.  It  looks  ugly,  but  is  not  deep  and 
bleeds  no  longer.  Are  there  other  injuries?" 

"My  head  rings,  and  this  left  arm  appears  paralyzed, 
from  blows,  no  doubt,  and  there  are  spots  on  my  body 
which  feel  like  burns.  No,  I  am  not  in  bad  shape.  Now 
let  me  stand  alone;  that's  better.  Good  God,  what  a 
scene !" 

The  fire,  by  this  time  blazing  brightly,  gave  us  a  full 
view  of  the  entire  dismantled  interior.  The  cabin  was  a 
complete  wreck,  the  roof  practically  all  gone  and  the 
upper  logs  of  the  side  walls  either  fallen  within  or 
dangling  in  threat.  Above  clung  jagged  sections, 
trembling  with  their  own  weight;  the  lower  walls  were 
blackened  by  powder  and  stained  with  blood;  the  floor 
was  strewn  with  dead  bodies,  disfigured  and  distorted, 
lying  exactly  as  they  fell,  while  littered  all  about  were 
weapons,  dropped  by  stricken  hands.  Clearly  enough  it 
had  been  the  sudden  plunge  of  heavy  timbers  and  the  dis- 
lodgment  of  those  upper  logs,  which  accounted  for  this 
havoc  of  death.  There  were  dead  there  pierced  by  bullets 
and  brained  by  rifle  stocks,  but  the  many  had  met  their 
fate  under  the  avalanche  of  logs,  and  amid  the  burning 
glare  of  exploding  powder. 

Only  between  arched  timbers  and  sections  of  fallen 


354  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

roof  could  we  move  at  all,  and  beneath  the  network  of  this 
entanglement  the  majority  of  the  bodies  lay,  crushed  and 
mangled.  I  saw  Kirby,  free  from  his  bonds,  but  dead 
beneath  a  heavy  beam.  His  face  was  toward  us  and  the 
flicker  of  flame  revealed  a  dark  spot  on  his  forehead  — 
his  life  had  never  been  crushed  out  by  that  plunging 
timber  which  pinned  him  there;  it  had  been  ended  by  a 
bullet.  My  eyes  sought  hers,  in  swift  memory  of  my  last 
order,  and  she  must  have  read  my  thought. 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  that,  Steven.  It  was  the  boy  who 
shot  him.  Oh,  please,  can  we  not  go?  There  is  light 
already  in  the  sky  overhead  —  see.  Take  me  away  from 
here  —  anywhere,  outside." 

"In  a  moment;  all  these  surely  are  dead,  beyond  our 
aid,  and  yet  we  must  not  depart  foodless.  We  know  not 
how  far  it  still  may  be  to  Ottawa.  Wait,  while  I  search 
for  the  things  We  need." 

"Not  alone;  I  must  be  where  I  can  touch  you.  Try  to 
understand.  Oh,  you  do  not  know  those  hours  I  have 
spent  in  agony  —  I  have  died  a  thousand  deaths  since 
that  sun  went  down." 

"You  were  conscious  —  all  night  long?" 

"Conscious?  Yes,  and  unhurt,  yet  prisoned  helpless 
beneath  those  two  logs  yonder,  saved  only  by  that  over 
turned  bench.  Elsie,  poor  thing,  never  knew  how  death 
came,  it  was  so  swift,  but  I  lay  there,  within  a  foot  of 
her  body  unscratched.  I  could  think  only  of  you,  Steven, 
but  with  never  a  dream  that  you  lived.  There  were 
groans  at  first  and  cries.  Some  Indians  crept  in  through 
the  door  and  dragged  out  a  few  who  lived.  But  with 
the  coming  of  darkness  all  sounds  ceased  and  such  silence 


THE  TRAIL  TO  OTTAWA  355 

was  even  more  dreadful  than  the  calls  for  help.  Oh,  I 
cannot  tell  you,"  and  she  clung  to  me,  her  voice  breaking. 
"I  —  I  dared  not  move  for  hours,  and  then,  when  I  did 
try,  found  I  could  not;  that  I  was  held  fast.  Only  for  a 
knife  in  the  hand  of  a  dead  savage,  which  I  managed  to 
secure,  I  could  never  have  freed  myself.  And  oh,  the 
unspeakable  horror  of  creeping  in  the  darkness  among 
those  bodies.  I  knew  where  the  fireplace  must  be;  that 
there  might  be  live  coals  there  still.  I  had  to  have  light ; 
I  had  to  know  if  you  were  dead." 

"Don't  think  about  it  any  more,  dear  heart,"  I  urged. 
"Yes,  we  can  go  now  —  nothing  else  holds  us  here." 

We  crept  out  through  the  door,  underneath  a  mass  of 
debris,  into  the  gray  of  the  dawn.  How  sweet  the  air, 
how  like  a  benediction  the  song  of  birds.  Neither  of  us 
looked  back,  and  I  held  her  close  against  me  as  we  moved 
onward,  past  the  big  tree,  and  down  the  long  slope.  It 
was  a  wondrous  view  of  peace  and  beauty,  the  broad 
green  valley,  with  the  silver  thread  of  water  shining  in 
its  center — the  valley  of  the  Bureau.  We  followed  the 
faint  trail,  which  wound  in  and  out  among  small  copses 
of  trees;  the  sun  began  to  brighten  the  far  east  and  her 
hand  stole  into  mine.  The  light  was  upon  her  face,  and 
rave  me  a  glimpse  of  the  sadness  of  her  eyes.  Beyond  a 
little  grove  we  found  some  horses  browsing  in  the  deep 
grass ;  they  were  those  that  had  brought  us  from  Yellow 
Banks,  and  whinnied  a  greeting  as  we  drew  near.  Two 
of  them  were  fit  to  ride  and  the  others  followed,  limping 
along  behind. 

A  half  mile  up  the  valley  we  came  to  a  beaten  trail, 
running  straight  across  from  bluff  to  bluff,  and  disappear- 


356  THE  DEVIL'S  OWN 

ing  into  the  prairie  beyond,  heading  directly  toward  the 
sunrise.  We  stopped  and  looked  back  for  the  first  time. 
There  on  the  side  of  the  slope,  under  the  shade  of  the  big 
tree,  stood  the  cabin.  Only  for  the  wreck  of  the  roof  it 
spoke  no  message  of  the  tragedy  within.  The  sun's  rays 
gilded  it,  and  the  smoke  from  its  chimney  seemed  a  beck 
oning  welcome.  I  reached  out  and  took  her  hand,  and 
our  eyes  met  in  understanding.  What  I  whispered  need 
not  be  told,  and  when  we  again  rode  forward,  it  was  upon 
the  trail  to  Ottawa. 


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Landloper,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The.    By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall. 

Last  Try,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Last  Shot,  The.    By  Frederick  N.  Palmer. 

Last  Trail,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Laughing  Cavalier,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Law  Breakers,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Lighted  Way,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Lighting  Conductor  Discovers  America,  The.     By  C.  N.  & 

A.  N.  Williamson. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare,  The.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Roll,  The.    By  Mary  Johnson. 
Lonesome  Land.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Lord  Loveland  Discovers  America.     By  C.   N.  and  A.  M 

Williamson. 

Lost  Ambassador.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgsow  Burnett. 
Lost  Road,  The.    By  Richard  Harding  Djivis. 
Love  Under  Fire.    BY  Randall  Parrish. 


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Macaria.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.     By  Vingie  E.  Roe, 

Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  Randolph  Chester. 

Making  Money.  By  Owen  Johnson. 

Mam'  Linda.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Man  Outside,  The.    By  Wyndham  Martyn. 

Man  Trail,  The.     By  Henry  Oyen. 

Marriage.     By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Marriage  of  Theodora,  The.    By  Mollie  Elliott  Seawell. 

Mary  Moreland.    By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Max.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Maxwell  Mystery,  The.    By  Caroline  Wells. 

Mediator,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault.    By  Kate  Langley  Bosher. 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown.    By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley. 

Molly  McDonald.  By  Randall  Parrish. 

Money  Master,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon.  The.    Ey  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.    By  C.  N  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Moth,  The.    By  William  Dana  Orcutt. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Binigle.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.     By  E.  PhiUips  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients,    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat.    By  George  Fitch. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson, 

My  Lady  Caprice.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

My  Lady  of  Doubt.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  North,    By  Randall  ParrisK 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Net,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 


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